Envisions
by Emmithar
Summary: In an unforeseen incident Greg is left believing that he is dead. How then, could he explain where he was now, and why nothing was same as before?
1. Chapter 1

**Envisions**

**By: **Emmithar

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **In an unforeseen incident Greg is left believing that he is dead. How then, could he explain where he was now, and why nothing was same as before?

**Disclaimer: **So, if I actually owned that characters, would I be writing a disclaimer? Didn't think so.

**A/N: **So this is a little different than my normal stories. Wait, what am I saying? It's a lot different then most of my stories. I suppose this would fit under the AU category. A lot of other characters will be out of character. And um yeah, if you get confused, don't feel bad. I'm expecting confusion. The story will make sense eventually…

* * *

**Chapter One: Living Dead?**

It was supposed to be simple. All he had to do was get an answer to one single question. He would be gone only a matter of fifteen, twenty minutes. He wouldn't even need to bring someone along either. Sara hadn't wanted him to go alone; she had said something about it being dangerous. Greg had laughed it off then.

He wouldn't be breaking procedure, considering the person he was meeting up with was neither a suspect nor a victim of their current case. There really wasn't a need for more than one person to go, and Sara had been busy. Greg didn't see the problem if he went alone. Now though…he was regretting it.

If it was supposed to be as simple as he thought, then why was he here now, spread across the ground as the car sped away, the dark crimson blood pooling beneath him? There was no doubt in his mind that he was dying, and with no one around to help him it would be his most certain fate.

Still there was something he could do…not necessarily to save himself, for even if he called for help he knew that it was too late. He would be long dead before anyone even showed up. The only thing he could offer was a lead…a chance for the crime lab to track down the individual that was responsible. At least that way they couldn't hurt anyone else.

With slow, yet determined movements he grasped his phone, flipping it open as he fumbled with the keys, texting the one small, final message as darkness claimed him.

* * *

It was the light that he first was aware of. A dizzying sensation came next, clouding his mind, but he didn't feel sick…not really anyways. He blinked; clearing his vision as the room slowly came into focus. He was in Grissom's office…or so he thought at first.

It was the same general location…but with different décor, very different…and Sara was walking around the desk towards him, talking continuously as she wrote on a piece of paper. What exactly was going on?

The last few moments were still vivid in his mind, and Greg subconsciously moved his hand down to his midsection where the bullets had hit him…to find nothing. No blood, no wounds…and no pain. Had he simply imagined it? Swallowing he nodded; of course he had…what other explanation could there be?

But it had felt so real…and why would he be dreaming at work? And still, that did not explain why he was in Grissom's office…why Sara was in Grissom's office…or why it was covered in plants, and forensic books, in place of the cockroaches and butterfly collections Grissom always proudly displayed.

Sara held the paper out to him, still talking as she did so. Greg only caught bits of what she was saying as he took the paper, reading it over with a frown. His eyes followed Sara as she moved back around, taking a seat in the other chair, Grissom's chair…

"You were lucky," she told him with a nod, crossing her arms on the desk. "Not only could you have lost the case for us, you could have been hurt in the process."

With a frown still he reread the slip of paper, before glancing up at her. "Are you…reprimanding me?"

Sara nodded with a sigh, turning away. "I know our standings with each other make it seem awkward, but if you were anyone else, the same would happen. Besides, the time off could do you well…"

"Suspension?" he questioned, rereading the paper once again. Sara did technically have the authority to lecture him, but to suspend him? That was an entirely different matter.

"You shouldn't be so upset," she warned him. "Two days are nothing compared to what I could give you. I already know the lab's going to be upset when they hear about it, so don't make it any worse than it already is."

"You can't do this," Greg countered, trying to reason everything in his head. "Besides…I don't even know what I did wrong."

"Cut the crap Greg," Sara's response surprised him, and he watched timidly now as she moved out of the chair. "You know that entering an unsecured crime scene can throw an entire case. Let's forget you went inside alone, without either calling or waiting for backup."

Greg shook his head. Was he hearing things right? He wondered briefly where Grissom had gone, and who exactly had pointed sergeant warpath as the leader in his place. It was then he noticed the name plate, wondering vaguely why he hadn't done so before. On the other hand, why would he, as it always read the same thing. Always…except for now. He handled it carefully, reading slowly to make sure that it actually said what he thought.

'_Sara Sidle, Supervisor'_

He could no longer hear her carefully worded speech, his only attention on the name plate before him. This wasn't right, none of it was. Sara wasn't the supervisor, Grissom was…and Greg knew he had never entered an unsecured crime scene before either. It was a joke…it had to be a joke, that was the only explanation possible.

"Where's Grissom?"

Sara stopped this time, falling quiet when she turned to him. "Grissom?" she asked, her voice skeptical.

"Yes," Greg nodded firmly, "You know, Grissom…our real supervisor."

"This isn't the time for jokes, Greg," she scolded him instead, her head shaking.

"Just answer the question," he stated, his voice quiet. If this was a joke, he wasn't finding it very amusing.

"He's gone Greg; he's been gone for the last four years."

He shook his head, swallowing. "That's impossible; I just talked to him this morning…"

"So tell me?" she asked coldly, anger evident in her eyes. "Since when do you communicate with the dead?"

"Dead?" he repeated her quietly, staring at the ground. But how could that be? Quick as ever he was on his feet, already out of the office, ignoring Sara's questions, her demands that he come back, to stop…to do anything other than what he wanted.

Grissom dead? Dead for years? It didn't make any sense…now he was more certain than ever that this was one sick and cruel joke. Someone must have slipped something into his coffee when he wasn't looking, and then while he hallucinated his own murder they had set up this prank. He just wanted to know when, and how…but mostly why. Grissom couldn't be dead; Greg could remember their exchange early this morning.

"_How far are you and Sara on your 419?" Grissom moved around him to the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee; Blue Hawaiian to be exact. Greg no longer tried to argue the fact that it was his expensive brand, he always lost in the end. He might as well save his breath._

"_No new leads," Greg replied dismally, shuffling through the papers he had. Contact information, for the victim's clients. Their db turned out to be a natural healer, a doctor of sorts that preferred herbal medicine. Some held her in high opinions, others despised her. The list of possible suspects was long. Fifty-three to be exact._

"_Cold case then?"_

_The lab was on budget, Ecklie's order. If a case was running longer than a week with no further leads, it was supposed to be marked, set aside until something showed up. If it ever did._

_Greg shook his head quickly. "Sara's processing some new evidence, and Brass is working to get us a warrant to search…Crawfer's car. He was the last client to see our vic alive, about five minutes prior to her death according to the log."_

"_If he was gone by then, why are you assuming he has a connection?" _

"_Relevance," Greg replied calmly. "He was logged out five minutes prior to her death. But he did not show up at his place until an hour afterwards. His house was only a fifteen minutes away."_

"_He could have very well stopped somewhere," Grissom took the time to point out the obvious fact._

"_Claims he went straight home. His story doesn't add up."_

_Grissom nodded, thoroughly impressed. "Run with what you have, and log it in when you're done. I'll be expecting an update before you leave the lab today…"_

Before he left the lab…that would imply that Grissom would be around here somewhere...Greg ran his hands nervously through his hair as he came to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Sara was not too far behind him, a look of worry rather than anger occupying her face. Funny…he expected humor; after all, this was a joke.

Warrick was in the adjacent room, hardly noticing his appearance. That was until Greg dodged into the room. The other man blinked, watching him with a mixture of surprise and confusion as Greg let out a quickened breath, asking the desperate question.

"Where's Grissom?" He wet his lips as he leaned against the table.

"Grissom?" It wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"I don't know what you guys are trying to pull," Greg muttered quietly, clenching his teeth. "Just give it up already, it's not funny anymore."

He turned as Sara paused in the doorway, calling his name softly. Her look matched Warrick's; a look of concern, worry…mixed with confusion.

"Greg…are you okay?"

Was he okay? Greg no longer knew, he felt sick inside, and his legs buckled, the only thing that kept him from falling was his grip on the table. What was going on? The only thing he was aware of anymore were the strong hands on his back, under his arms, holding him as he continued to collapse to the ground, fading into a state of darkness as the world spun around him.

**TBC…**

**Reviews make me happy :D It also entitles to a faster post of the next chapter **


	2. False Conclusions

**So far so good, hopefully we're not too confusing so far. Thanks for all the comments, I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. A quick second chapter. Thanks to _Jenny_ and _Kegel_ for help with this :)**

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**Chapter Two: False Conclusions **

What was it with hospitals and the color white? Was it supposed to be calming? Greg found it more irritating than anything else. His fingers twisted subconsciously in the sheets below him, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. It had been nearly an hour since he was first brought in. And more than ever he wanted to get out of there.

Greg had only spent a handful of minutes unconscious, coming to very quickly when the others were moving around him. He spent the entire car ride trying to convince Sara that he didn't need to come here. All he wanted was answers…answers they had all been reluctant to give.

At first he was terrified. Now he was just irritated. He let out a soft chuckle, hanging his head as he thought it over. He was still scared, confused mostly. He could imagine the others out in the hallway, laughing quietly at their well played joke. It was a joke…

Greg reminded himself of that one last time as the doctor came back into the room, pen in one hand, a pad in the other. He was barely able to bite back the groan that threatened to pass forth from his lips. More questions…why more questions? He had already answered half a million. Plus the fact he had also gone through every medical procedure possible. Everything from blood pressure to reflexes had been tested. Greg was sick and tired of being prodded and poked.

The doctor was hardly paying attention to him now, seemingly lost in his own world as he worked on filling the chart out. Greg wondered briefly what the man would say, wondering if the others had been able to get him to play along as well. At the moment he was still unsure of what he had done to deserve such treatment.

Sure, he had pulled his fair share of jokes, and pranks, paybacks and blackmail. Nothing illegal of course and certainly nothing that was against lab policy. It was simple things, such as switching locks on the lockers, when there were people around who were careless enough to leave them just lying around of course. Another time he had effectively switched the sugar with the salt. An old trick, but priceless in the end.

Greg knew just how far he could go before he crossed the line. It was something he never did either. He enjoyed bringing laughter into lab, at the expense of others of course. Greg knew also that they others always tried to pay him back in one way or another. So far he had been able to side-step all of them, or at least most of them.

As far as he was concerned, this was just a well played joke. It would have been Nick that slipped something into his coffee. The Texan, after all, had been the one to make the pot, had been the one to pour him a cup. Greg had been busy at that time, and had taken him up on the offer.

That alone would make sense. Because although Nick had taken a cup himself, he hadn't taken a drink there. Instead he had left the room. Plus the simple fact with Grissom being gone…

Grissom was the only one out of the group that wouldn't have gone along willingly with the plan. Well…Ecklie too, he was the only one Greg was having a hard time coming up with an explanation for. Grissom was the easy one; he had some coffee as well. Whatever had been slipped in the coffee must have caused him to pass out as well. Who knew then what anyone did with the man.

The problem with sedatives was the fact it carried a wide range of side effects. One of them being hallucinations. He wasn't aware of when he passed out, but it would explain why he had fantasized his own death, especially after taking into account their victim's COD was a bullet to the chest. His subconscious mind would have picked that up easily enough.

However, there was no real way that the others could have known what happened. Greg knew that any joke they pulled, however well preformed, would be harmless in the end. Once he told them why he was anxious about the entire situation, they would finally confess to everything. Still, Greg had to admire their skill, the ability for all of them to keep straight faces. Everything was well played so far.

He was convinced, however, that he would not be paying this bill. There was no way Greg would be coughing up his own small paycheck for a prank. He barely got by on what he had now; of course he was also keeping up with rising cost of rent. His apartment was new, a larger one than his old place. The only stupid thing he had done was move into it a week after getting his new job, and conveniently his pay cut.

"Alright then," the doctor nodded to him, acknowledging him for the first time since entering the room. "I think we're done here, you can go ahead and get dressed."

Greg nodded monotonously, already pulling the hospital gown up and over his head. The cool air around him brushed his skin as he made his way over to the chair, where all his other clothes had been draped. Greg had protested the fact that he needn't change, that he didn't need to be checked out. But Sara and the others wouldn't have it any other way. And they were all here, or at least, out in the hall.

"How is he?"

It was Nick who asked this question, and Greg scoffed quietly as he stepped into his pants. At least he had made the effort to sound concerned. He could hear the doctor respond.

"Physically he's perfectly healthy…"

"What about mentally?" Warrick interjected.

Greg shook his head as he pulled on his shirt, listening intently for the answer. Exactly how long were they going to go on with this?

"Mentally can be anyone's guess," his doctor told them, his voice quiet. It occurred to Greg that no one wanted him to hear what he was saying, so Greg made his way closer to the door, determined not to be left out of anything.

"He shows no signs of trauma or shock, which are common physical triggers of memory loss. Emotional stress can sometimes cause people to block out certain events...is there any chance he's gone through a particularly traumatic experience within the last 24-48 hours?"

"Someone suspended him," Nick offered up, his voice tense.

Greg chuckled lightly, shaking his head. Everything was well thought out; he had to give the team some credit. He grew quiet again once the short argument had been stopped, listening once again.

"I would suggest lots of rest; just have him take it easy for a couple of days. If he hasn't improved by then, take him into a specialist. I have a list here of therapists you can take him to."

"I know someone," Sara countered coldly. Apparently she was still angry from Nick's accusation. Greg felt that then was the best time to make his appearance, as he finished lacing up the last of his shoes. With a calm, yet determined gaze he made his way out into the hall.

* * *

Sara had taken him home. At least that was what he had thought. When she turned left, instead of right at the last intersection, he began to wonder. Finally he asked where they were going. 

She only eyed him suspiciously, turning up front shortly after. "Home."

"Home's the other way," Greg pointed out, frowning at her worried complexion. "Look Sara…I get it. I'll stop the jokes, I'll be more serious. You don't have to go through all this trouble. Personally, it's starting to freak me out. I've gone along with your little game long enough now."

"This isn't a game Greg," she snapped at him, biting her lip as she shifted in her seat. "At least not to me. If you find any of this humorous I will personally kill you. Then I'll have Nick help me hide your body."

Greg frowned at the statement, now feeling suddenly cold. If it wasn't a prank…then what did that leave? This honestly couldn't be real…was he dreaming then? Greg shook his head…of course he wasn't. This…all of this was too real to be a dream. Wasn't it?

Ten minutes later she had pulled to a stop in a driveway. It belonged to a white house, one-story, but nice enough, from an outwards appearance at least. A bay-window sat in front, overlooking a spacious yard, a well kept garden. Greg watched skeptically as Sara got out, frowning as she pulled his door open.

"Where are we?"

From the look she had given him he didn't need to guess twice. This must be his house. Greg was becoming more worried by the second as he walked up the hand-poured path to the door. Still he couldn't complain, if this indeed was his house, it was far better than his apartment, and the additional space was no issue either.

"I don't have keys," Greg remarked quietly when reaching the door, surprised as Sara huffed. What exactly did she expect of him?

"I do," she responded, pulling them out as she came to a stop. She inserted the key, pausing long enough to pull out the mail from the box on the wall before successfully opening the door.

The floor was wood, not the cheap imitation, but actual, real solid wood. He had to pause longingly and bend over to run his hand along it, just to admire it for a moment more. Greg felt guilty as he stepped side, feeling as though he should at least remove his shoes or something. But Sara was far ahead of him, standing near the counter as she sorted through the mail.

It made him frown. Was she supposed to be doing that? He could still read after all…but then again, considering the current situation he found himself in maybe it was better to let Sara go through it. He wandered past her, into the living room, pausing here to take his shoes off. The carpet was plush under his feet, clean…something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

There were matching couches and end-tables, decorated with matching dual lamps. They were both set on low, a dim golden light covering the area. The entertainment center, yes, an actual center, once again real wood, with working doors that actually closed.

He couldn't resist looking. A 52 inch screen. That was nice…Greg couldn't help but to crouch down, glancing in the compartment underneath. There wasn't any gaming system, and he frowned, wondering where his old stuff was. Surely he would have some here…

He opened a second door, quickly noting the dual DVD/Video Cassette player. A Phillips compact stereo system in the other cabinet. Movies in another. Where was the gaming system? There had to be one around here somewhere.

"What are you looking for?"

Greg glanced up quickly, resting on his knees now as he slowly closed the door. He considered asking her, but decided against. She looked angry enough already, there was no need to push it. "Nothing," he answered quietly. "Nothing at all…"

"Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

Greg nodded, moving to his feet now, his hands sliding into his pockets. "Yeah…"

"I need to be at work, we still have an active case going on. Take some Excedrin and try to get some sleep. If you need me just call my cell phone, I'll have it on the rest of the night."

Greg nodded again, watching her leave, clearing his throat quickly. "Um…where do I sleep?"

This time the look was one of surprise, but she pointed down the hall anyways. "All the way down, to your right."

He nodded his thanks, but he could see that Sara was clearly worried. It only generated more fear and alarm in him. If she was worried, that would give him a clear reason to be terrified.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"When I wake up," he stated, trying to sound confident, "it'll all be a dream."

"I hope so," she said quietly. "Because this is really starting to scare me."

She had taken the words straight out of his mouth.

**TBC**


	3. Surprises

**Thanks goes out to _Jenny_ and _Kegel _for looking over this for me. Glad to see so much interest in this, it's been quite fun to write. ;)**

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**Chapter Three: Surprises**

He hadn't slept that night, hadn't been able to. Greg spent most of his time exploring the house. Two bathrooms, a guest room, a study. Everything was decorated lavishly; everything was neat, clean, and fine-trimmed. It wouldn't surprise him to find every button of every jacket in the household fully intact either. Greg had a hard time believing that this was his place…his house.

The entryway was decorated with pictures, as were the halls. Most of them were of him and Sara. They looked younger in those pictures, and Greg had taken them in mind, wondering exactly then what was going on. The longer he stayed here, the more he felt as though something was missing. Something seemed out of place, and it wasn't the situation either. Something was definitely wrong.

It was sometime near that morning when exhaustion finally took its toll on him, and Greg eased himself down onto the bed. He wasn't even sure where his pajamas would be, if he even had any, and finally decided on his undershirt and boxers. It was much easier than trying to tear everything apart anyways.

He dropped his pants and shirt on the floor near the bed, mostly out of habit as he crawled under the covers, relaxing into the soft comfort. It hadn't taken him long then to fall asleep, weary of the night's events even though he had hardly done anything. Greg was trying to convince himself that he would wake up in the morning, find himself in his own bed, at his own place. Later on he and the others would have a good laugh over it as they shared coffee in the break room. It was the last feasible thought he had.

Then there was the hand, as the bed shifted next to him. The feel of someone's breath against his neck, ever so quiet. It woke him up quickly. Quick enough that he sat upright, coming too close to the edge, his motion propelling him backwards and onto the ground, dragging half the covers with him.

"Greg?" Sara's worried voice covered the air as she sat up, watching as he stumbled to his feet, his legs tangled in the mess that was now on the floor. "What's wrong, are you okay?"

"What are you doing?" he cried briefly, suddenly feeling very naked in just his undergarments. Quickly he reached down, wrapping one of the sheets around his lower body. Part of him had always fantasized what it would be like to sleep with Sara. He didn't mean that in a grotesque, kinky way. Greg admitted honestly that he had a thing for Sara; he cared for her more than he realized, but this…this just wasn't right. After all, who exactly had given her permission to come into his house, and just slip into his bed?

"Going to sleep," Sara snapped angrily. "What exactly are you doing?"

"You're sleeping," Greg questioned, "in my bed?"

She let out a groan, rubbing her head. "I know you're still angry about the suspension," she told him quietly. "There's not a lot I can do about it. Nick wanted to give you longer; especially after the stunt you pulled today."

Greg blinked, standing there simply confused. "Nick?"

"Yes," Sara nodded as she frowned. "Nick Stokes, head of the crime lab. Don't sit there and claim you don't know."

"I…" Greg cleared his throat. Did he hear her right? Nick…the head of the crime lab? How was that possible? How was any of this possible? "I…I have to go to the bathroom," he stuttered.

Sara watched him silently, blinking after a moment. "So…go then."

"Right," Greg nodded quietly, swallowing his breath as he quickly dodged out of the room, the sheet still trailing behind him. He dropped it once inside, locking the door behind him as he sank to the ground, his head in his hands.

He couldn't handle this. It was as though he had stepped into another dimension. Sara was his supervisor; Nick was the head of the lab. Grissom was dead…and he and Sara were hitting it off? What ever happened to casual dating?

He rubbed the back of his neck, jumping when Sara knocked on the door, calling out to him. She wanted to know if he was okay, and Greg laughed bitterly, banging his head against the cabinet for good measure. Was he okay? Sure…he didn't know where he was, or what was going on, but he was okay. He was splendid in fact. Greg was sorely convinced that nothing could get worse from here.

"Greg…" her voice was soft, withdrawn as she talked to him through the door. "I know that you're upset with me. What else did you expect me to do? You messed up, and I know you didn't mean to. It was just something that happened."

During this time he remained quiet, not saying anything back, his hands tightly clasped between his knees. He was expecting a confession, not a lecture.

"You would have done the same to me. I know that you were upset when you didn't get the supervisor position. The both of us were really close, I was just a little better. I'm not trying to put you down…its hard working like this, I can understand that Greg."

He only blinked, taking in what she had said. Had he actually worked for a supervisor role? It surprised him, honestly. Greg never considered being the lead in anything, not that he doubted his leadership skills, it was just a position he didn't want. He didn't want the burden, the responsibility. Heck, he had a hard enough time following orders, what would happen if he was the one giving them?

"We'll work out our differences; just don't shut me out okay? Come on, open the door, let me in…"

Greg swallowed, leaning his head back against the cabinet. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just sit in here forever and sulk, but at the same time could he go out there and pretend that nothing was wrong? Something obviously was, and at this point Greg honestly didn't care if it was him or not, as long as it was resolved.

He heard Sara beg him some more; yes, Sara Sidle was begging. If he hadn't of been in such a sourly depressed mood he might have enjoyed it. But the worry, the fear, and the sorrow were slowly weighing down on him. Yes…he was sad. Regretful.

To think of it, there was no real reason he should be sad. He had a beautiful house, a beautiful girl that was on the other side of the bathroom door whispering to him, calling him baby, the same girl he had wanted more than ever to be with. What more could he honestly want?

Swallowing painfully he let his head drop into his hands, contemplating his predicament. It occurred to him then what he really wanted. He wanted his life back.

* * *

He was sleeping; or at least he was supposed to be. Greg was somewhat afraid that if he even dared to crack open an eyelid, Sara would personally shove an entire bottle of Excedrin down his throat. He had spent the rest of the morning in the bathroom, fully ignoring Sara who stood just on the outside of the door. 

She had tried every tactic possible in getting him to open the door. From begging to downright threats of busting the piece open. Greg hardly paid any attention, doing his best not to doze off even after she had left, and the house grew quiet. Even still, he waited another full hour, possibly more before venturing from the small room, leaving the sheets piled on the floor.

Sara was sleeping then on her…their bed. Greg shook his head as he crept into the room, over to where his clothes were still spread out onto the floor. It would be easier to just change into his old stuff, rather than search the two dressers in the room for what was his. He left just as quietly.

It was warm outside, and still only in the mid-afternoon. Greg stayed on the sidewalk, taking note of his surroundings as he went by. He wasn't sure where he was going, he had no real place in mind, at least not now. What he needed more than anything was the fresh air, time to clear his head.

Maybe…just maybe he had been shot…long ago…and was unable to fill in the blanks from then to now. As soon as he thought of the notion he shook it off. That, of course, was nonsense. The doctor had evaluated him right there. Greg knew the current date, current time, current year. It was the same as it had been that morning, yesterday…when everything made sense. Some time later he found himself at a park; he recognized it enough, the crime lab had processed more than one case here over the many years. He sat himself down on one of the swings, remaining there until Sara had shown up in her car.

Greg hadn't argued then, only getting into the car without a word. Sara hadn't been thrilled to learn he had been awake this entire time. In fact she had warned him that if he didn't get some rest after returning home, she would personally make sure he had his sleep.

Sara wasn't one to make threats lightly; Greg knew that well enough. This was how he found himself on the couch, feigning sleep. Sara had been, for the most part of the day, cleaning. She had done laundry, dusting, sorting mail even. It made him nervous. Sara was never this organized, never this…orderly.

He never did actually fall asleep, but stayed in that position for Sara's sake, and her sake alone. She seemed stressed…worried. Greg couldn't help but wonder if all her worry was over him. It would be misplaced, he would think. Greg had enough to worry about to keep him busy for over a lifetime. He honestly did not need anyone harping over him on top of it all.

Nick had stopped by. Sara let him in, quietly thanking him as he handed her a key. The Texan had taken time to drive Greg's car back. It had been left at the lab, after all they had taken one vehicle to the hospital, and then it was straight home from there.

"How is he?"

He heard Sara sigh in response. "Different…I don't know why he's acting like this."

"Do you think he's purposely doing it?" Nick wondered, following her into the kitchen. Greg risked opening an eye to watch the pair as they talked quietly.

"I don't know," Sara remarked, leaning against the counter, her arms folded. "He didn't sleep at all last night, I'm convinced that if he gets some sort of rest he'll be okay. If not…I'll take him in to see someone tomorrow."

"You think he's crazy?"

Greg snorted at this, before quickly silencing himself, remembering then he was supposed to be asleep. The others were watching him, he knew it, could feel it. A long couple of minutes passed before they started talking once again, convinced now that he was indeed asleep.

"You don't have to be crazy," Sara reminded Nick, "Sometimes you just need someone to talk to."

"And you think that just talking with some stranger is going to help him?"

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Sara asked him coldly.

Nick cleared his throat. "Not really…"

So that was it then. He would be seeing a shrink. Greg knew he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of it either. Then again there was slight comfort there. After all if he was crazy, then at least one thing would make sense.

**TBC**


	4. Heavenly Worries

**I know I haven't posted anything lately, and I'm regretfully sorry about that. It's been so busy and hectic I haven't really had the time. **

**This will also be the last update until July. I know it's short notice, but I'll be out of state and nowhere close to a computer or the internet. No promises on how soon after that I'll be able to get anything up.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks goes out to Jenny and Kegel for looking over this chapter for me. **

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**Chapter Four: Heavenly Worries **

He was chewing on the end of his pencil, watching the young man quizzically as he paced back and forth. It wasn't a good sign. Greg was supposed to be the nervous one, not the doctor. He ignored it however, coming to a stop in front of the open window, the light, cool breeze hitting him in the face. For a brief moment he felt free, he felt content. Then the man spoke up once more.

"Let me get this straight," Doctor Brewer said in hesitation, "You mean to tell me that you believe that you are dead?"

Greg let out a snort, hardly turning around to him as he answered. "We both know that thought is inconceivable," he pointed out, "as I am currently standing here and discussing this with you."

"So all of which you just told me is mere fabrication then?" Brewer tried to confirm, frowning as Greg shook his head.

Moving back over to the couch Greg sat himself down, staring the other man in the eye. He wasn't afraid, ashamed, or concerned even. Mostly he was irate, he didn't want to be here, but as he full well knew, arguing with Sara wasn't going to change anything.

"It's all I remember. Then I'm here."

"You were shot…and killed….and you wonder why you're here?" Brewers frowned, shifting his chair.

"I told you, that is what I last remembered," Greg corrected him. "But obviously I am not hurt, and I'm not six feet under a pile of dirt. The only conclusion that is left is that I am, in fact, alive. But please, explain to me why none of this makes sense."

"I would consider the fact that something has happened to you, emotionally or physically, that has cut part of your life out. Memory loss in association with trauma isn't uncommon."

"Maybe," Greg agreed as he nodded, "but how then do I know the date, the time…the crime lab, the people I've worked with for the past five, six years. Would I not forget all that as well?"

"Emotions can trigger certain blocks for certain things. You remembered that which is closest to you, what means the most. You've just forgotten events, places…things you wouldn't necessarily associate with feelings. Not directly, of course."

"And in place I created a whole other past, one that I know…or at least think I know, that I have lived in for my entire life. How would you explain that?"

"If the want is powerful enough, then yes. It's possible that you're subconscious mind has created a world that you believe exists. It's not unheard of, but it's not something you see very often."

"How many times have you seen this?" Greg wondered lightly.

Dr. Brewer smiled at him prior to jotting a few notes down. "You would be the first case."

"Wonderful," Greg muttered bitterly. "I'm a case now."

"It's nothing personal," the man started to assure him, but Greg was quick in cutting him off.

"How would it make you feel, for someone to classify you as 'a case'?"

"It's just a classification," Brewer stated firmly. "Are you afraid of being classified, maybe perhaps it's something you deal with a lot in your life."

When Greg raised an eyebrow at this statement he continued on a slight different path.

"Are you…afraid of being classified by your co-workers, your friends? Sara maybe? You two have quite a history together; it would be easy to see where the fear would come from."

"History?" he blinked, eyeing the doctor. "What history?"

It was then Brewer sighed, which wasn't anything new. For a short while it seemed as if it was all the man knew how to do. "Sara explained briefly that you were dealing with some memory issues, which is some of the reason why you are here now. Therefore she gave me permission to relinquish some of her files from past sessions, ones that you attended with her. She was hoping it would help."

Greg shifted on the couch, thankful that it was at least comfortable. He doubted that he would be able to stand the sessions otherwise. At first he was going to speak, but the doctor cut him off, and Greg hadn't the motivation to try and stop him.

"Let's start with basics. When did you meet Sara Sidle?"

"Six years ago," Greg started, silently adding 'almost' before continuing. "Grissom, our supervisor, called her out to work a case from the SFPD, and she just sort of…never went back," he chuckled quietly, remembering how eager the brunette had been when finding out about the job offer in Vegas.

"And what was their relationship then?"

Greg had to choke back a laugh at the last comment, replacing it with a smile. "Student Teacher then."

"As opposed to now?" Dr. Brewer wondered casually, once again scribbling on his notepad.

"If you're trying to suggest they are in some sort of a relationship, I would suggest otherwise. I mean I don't follow them home or anything, but Grissom is not a relationship type of a person. He's always been…distant, I guess you could say."

"And we are speaking as though Grissom is still alive then?" his doctor asked then, glancing up as the younger man was frowning.

"Obviously," Greg scoffed, wondering how this man ever got his degree in psychology.

"You are aware that Grissom has been…"

"Dead for years," he did cut in this time, shaking his head. "Or at least everyone says so."

"You disagree?"

"I tend to disagree with everyone as of late," Greg put in, watching the therapist nod. "Now…tell me of this…history Sara and I have? I found some picture the other day that show us together when we were younger…like teenagers almost. I'm not saying that I'm old, but I haven't known her that long."

"You meet Sara when you were nineteen," Brewer started, judging Greg's reaction. "You were in college, attending a beach party. Sara and her current boyfriend were there as well, and getting into it with him. You stepped in and he backed off; Sara stayed with you for the rest of the night, for solace as much as her own protection. After that you two were inseparable."

He blinked, "You know all of this?"

Brewer smiled, returning a nod. "She talks a lot."

"So…inseparable…what does that mean? Relationship…"

"Friendship," he cut in, "Strictly friendship. With Sara's past, it's hard for her to trust. But she confided in you a lot, and you've helped her through many stages of her life. The both of you graduated the same year from Berkeley, and you worked out of the San Francisco Crime Lab for several months before moving here. Sara had gotten an offer for a supervisor role of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and she had asked to you to come."

Greg sat back, eying him cautiously; unsure of if he was the one that was supposed to be evaluated at the moment. He knew that it was no longer a joke; everything was taking its own course, an entire elaborate history hanging over his head to disprove each and every word, thought, and notion. He was slowly losing every battle, and Greg was starting to run out of excuses.

* * *

He had returned home shortly after that. Nick had given him the ride, and Greg thanked him briefly, the only words he had exchanged with the Texan. Dr. Brewer wanted to see him several more times, over a course of a couple of weeks before coming to a direct conclusion. According to Nick, the man was doing him a favor, just because the doctor knew him so well.

Whatever the cause, Greg wasn't about to argue. He'd much rather live in this strange version of his life than to be locked up in an institution, or to have pills forced down his throat daily.

Sara was still working, would be for several more hours, and if he knew Sara as well as he was hoping he did, she would be working well past that. It gave him ample time to think, to sort out his overburdened mind. It was sad to think that his only worries before had been his rent payment, and avoiding a crazy neighbor from time to time.

He showered, changed, and crawled under the covers, not bothering to eat, and hardly caring that he was hungry. He felt more alone than ever, a hard concept to grasp, knowing that there was no one that understood his predicament. Did he continue to believe in his false past, or did he simply forget it, and move on to new things?

"_Just hold on…"_

Greg blinked, frowning as he listened closely. He had heard a voice…he was certain of it…but from whom? Sitting up he glanced around the empty room, swallowing as the dark shadows played against the wall. Maybe he was going crazy…

Sara appeared in the doorway then, phone in her hand as she slipped in quietly. She gave him an apologetic smile, dropping her things on the nightstand as she walked by. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep," he responded meagerly, lying back down as she entered the bathroom. Only a few minutes had gone by before she reemerged, walking around the room to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers back. Greg rolled up on his side, facing the wall, trying to lose himself in his thoughts once again.

When her hand brushed against his back he didn't pull away, simply closing his eyes as she curled up against him, her warm breath on his neck as she wrapped an arm around his waist. "How did the session go?"

Greg wanted to scoff, wanted to ask what was wrong with her. She was pretending as though seeing a shrink was a perfectly habitual matter, as though the last forty-eight hours had been nothing. Still he couldn't bring himself to answer like that, so instead he offered up a shrug. "Fine."

Her fingers rubbed his shoulder for a brief moment, before running down his back, lightly tracing his spine. "Just fine?"

"What do you want me to say?" Greg wondered, his skin tingling at her administrations. Sure…it still felt weird to have Sara next to him, comforting him…touching him intimately. He let out a breath as her hand moved lower.

"Whatever's on your mind," was her response, even as she nibbled at his ear. Greg rolled on his back then, but it didn't cease any of her intended motions. Her hand now rested on his lower stomach, rubbing his skin tenderly. "You seem to be doing better…but I won't know that for sure unless you tell me."

"I'm good," he nodded, knowing that there was no need to worry her. He saw her smile, grateful that she had bought his lie even as she leaned down, pressing a kiss against his waiting lips.

At first he resisted, part of him wondering if it was right, or even fair to take advantage of the situation, before realizing that it had been Sara who had initiated the contact. He felt her laugh as he responded, her hushed giggle nearly breaking the silence around him as he cupped her cheek first, before running his fingers through her russet hair, holding her close.

Her fingers were playing on his stomach again, moving lower as they stroked the bare skin, sliding under the waistband of his sweats. Greg broke the kiss, drawing in a deep breath as he turned his head away. He wasn't caught in a dream anymore…he was in a heavenly bliss.

**TBC**


	5. Time and Time Again

**Chapter Five: Time and Time Again**

He had left early to come here. It had been his first official day back at work, but he had only stayed a handful of hours. Work was fairly easy…he knew what he was doing there. For the first time since his...this life, Greg didn't feel out of place, almost.

Even still he couldn't concentrate. Sara had been worried when he had gone to her, asking for the extra hours off. After all, according to her, he was fine and dandy, especially after the way he had performed the previous night.

That, however, had nothing to do with his reasoning. Greg pulled off his sunglasses, setting them on his head as he surveyed the scene, taking the surroundings in carefully. He had been here…at the corner of Brighton and Jefferson Street. It was well off the strip, but not out of town. A relatively quiet neighborhood.

Crouching he ran a hand along the warm pavement, sighing in short frustration. Nothing…nothing at all. No tire treads, no shell casings…no blood. It still was vivid in his mind, clear as ever. This was the same exact spot he had been standing when it all happened. Being here, being this close made Greg believe that it hadn't been a dream.

He could still hear the gunshots echoing off the alleyways, the sharp pain in his abdomen. He winced, covering his lower stomach from the simple thought. There had been an explosion of pain; it had been the very thing that knocked him off his feet. It was here that he lay, gasping for his last breaths. How could he have imagined it all? Even more so, how could he have imagined another life, so vivid that he was now beginning to miss it?

The bitter taste only continued to grow in his mouth as he stood up, reaching for his phone that had already gone off several times. He took care in checking the caller ID, answering even though he had not wanted to. Greg wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone, least of all Sara. She had been in a fine mood last night, and most of the morning, but shortly after had grown bitter, more or less barking orders out at Greg, and taking no second thoughts on penalizing him when he did something wrong. One thing was for certain, he did not enjoy having Sara Sidle as his boss.

"Sanders."

He clutched the phone in his hand, frowning as she began to talk. It wasn't a direct order to come back into work, more of a plea. They were swamped, and she needed a break. That was a new one for him. Usually you had to pry her away from work, bribe her into taking some time off, or threaten her.

"I'll be in," he finally answered, hanging up before she could say another word. She seemed calmer now, a good sign for Greg at least. He ran a hand through his hair, surveying the empty streets before him one last time. There was the edgy feeling, something he couldn't quite place his finger on, something was out of place. Something aside from the fact his entire world had been shifted out of place.

With a resolute sigh he climbed back into his car, making a wide U-turn in order to head back to the crime lab. Glancing in his rear view mirror he could see the flashing lights, the hustle of people against the blacktop. He came to a stop, turning around to glance out the window, finding it bare and empty, much as before. One look at his mirror and the ambulance was now gone, the reflection as it should be of the emptiness he was leaving behind.

Greg gripped the steering wheel tightly, letting the car idle as he leaned his head forward, closing his eyes. "I am not crazy," he whispered through clenched teeth. "I am not crazy."

White walls, a sterile smell, a rocking, swaying motion, much like the feel of the ocean. Greg shook his head. He really was going crazy, imagining things like this. The fear was sudden, the shock unexplainable. He was going crazy, he was losing his mind. The one thing he valued quite dearly in his life. They would lock him away, watched by guards, and force-fed medication.

Who would visit him? Surely his friends at work would…wouldn't they? If not, then his family…

Greg opened his eyes for a brief moment. His family, his family would know. They would be able to tell him something, give him reassurance. His younger sister always listened to his problems when they were kids. What difference would it be now?

Hastily he pulled out his cell, dialing the familiar number. With a relieved breath he shifted in his seat, grateful to hear the ringing in the background. When the receiver was picked up, Greg nearly yelled in delight, but a second later his hopes were crushed as a man picked up.

"Hello?"

"I'm uh…is Amy there?" Greg asked nervously, reassuring himself that it could be a friend, or a neighbor that had answered. The pause in between told him otherwise.

"I think you have the wrong number."

"No," Greg shook his head, "Amy, her name is Amy Sanders, she's twenty-four, long brown hair, blue eyes…"

"I don't know any Amy sir," the man said, his attentiveness noted easily as the distress in Greg's voice began to rise.

"She's my baby sister, I have to find her," Greg pleaded quietly, closing his eyes as the tears threatened to flow. He couldn't do this anymore, he just couldn't.

"Is she missing?" the man asked, clearly concerned. "Is she lost? You should call the police son, they would be able to help you."

"I don't know," he sobbed quietly, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes as he began to cry. "I just need her, can you tell me where she is, please?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know," the man continued quietly, his voice calm, a sharp opposition to his state. "Why don't you tell me where you are, and I'll get someone to help you find her."

Greg only shook his head, ending the call without another word. He was appalled at his behavior, his weak constitution. The fear was real, and it was growing. He had just talked to his sister a few weeks ago; there was no way she could just vanish. Shakily he dialed his phone again, another number this time, howling in frustration as the operator informed him that the number did not exist.

How could it not? How could his parents not exist? It was not right, nor real…it just couldn't be. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, gritting his teeth as he lowered his head, trying, praying in vain to make some sense out of this jumbled mess.

A knock on the window startled him, and he jumped ever so slightly as he looked up, meeting the gaze of the police officer huddling over his car. He rolled his window down reluctantly, knowing that if he didn't, it would only cause more of a scene.

"Are you okay sir?"

There was a mask of concern, and curiosity on the officer's face, one that Greg studied for a moment before nodding, realizing only then that he had left his car idling this entire time. "Yeah."

His voice was bitter and dry, his throat tight after his sudden breakdown. He was feeling only slightly better, well enough to keep his raging emotions under control, but it wasn't enough to make the fear go away.

The sudden image of the mental hospitals encased his mind again as soon as the thought came up of telling the stranger what was going on. It wouldn't take long for anyone to assign him to the loony bin, and it was somewhere Greg did not want to go, even if he did belong there.

"I was just….calling someone for directions," he managed to say, the first lie popping into his head that made any sorts of sense. "It's a party, and I'm late."

"I can give you an escort," the officer offered, sincerity laced within his voice.

Greg gulped, the images of pulling up to the crime lab with a marked escort dancing, in his head. "I'm fine…really. I can find my way now…"

His voice had been shaky, and clearly unconvincing as the officer continued to stand there, his shadow draping across Greg's own form. The CSI drew in a shaky breath, pleading silently with himself to keep his cool. He couldn't afford to lose it now.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man pulled back, allowing Greg to take in his first real breath. The officer waved him on, already heading back to his own car, and Greg didn't wait for a second invitation as he sped off.

What he failed to notice was the officer reaching for the radio, reciting the license plate in his head as he made a call. He was too far gone, wanting the eerie feeling to disappear, speeding safely away to the last place he wanted to be.

* * *

The mood was perfect, the main lights off, the shades drawn, the door closed. Supple lips locked together as bodies pressed close, trapped against the wooden structure. Short breaths were taken in between as they broke apart, enough time taken to sit down on the desk that was digging into the back of her knees.

He brushed her hair back in long, slow strokes, holding her close for a second longer. She drank up his last kiss, savoring the sweet, tangy taste as she leaned her head back. "It's been too long."

Warrick smiled in silent agreement, running his fingers lightly up Catherine's arm, teasing the smooth flesh around her neck, and up along her jaw line. "Are you sure we can both get tomorrow off?"

"I've gotten someone to cover, and with the two new trainee's coming in, there shouldn't be any problems," she answered, capturing his hand as it brushed over her lips. She held it tight in her grasp, smiling.

From the doorway Greg let out a confused smile. It was wrong of him to eavesdrop on such a passionate moment, but if he hadn't seen it himself, he would have never believed the rumors. The ring, her finger, however, said it all. Besides, he had been informed to meet up with Catherine in her office, so technically, he wasn't eavesdropping, was he?

In the break that lasted just mere seconds, Greg took the opportunity to make himself known. The pair turned to look as he cleared his throat, knocking on the door. "Is this a bad time?"

"Depends," Catherine smiled, turning back to look at her fiancé. "How much did you see?"

"As little as you wanted me to?" Greg wondered quietly, hoping that the answer was the one she was looking for. Her playful laugh relieved the sudden tension he had felt earlier.

"Smart answer," she moved closer to Warrick then, whispering something in his ear. Something seductive, Greg guessed, by the way he moved back, a grin split across his face. He said his short goodbyes, brushing by Greg as the young CSI made his way into the office.

"Daytime supervisor," Greg read the plaque on her desk before glancing up at her, the woman readjusting her clothes as she moved to sit down in her chair. "You got the promotion you wanted."

"Years ago," she stated, frowning at the unusual comment. She had heard of Greg's episode through the grapevines, and studied his movements cautiously. When he was tired of being the experiment, he sat promptly in one of the other chairs that were offered.

"You will be able to cover the shift tomorrow, won't you?"

Greg blinked, taking her words twice over before answering. "Cover the shift? Your shift…as in supervise?"

"You're capable," Catherine told him, "You passed your tests, your exams, the crime lab was just short one supervisor position. I don't see any reason why you can't, do you?"

Greg only continued to stare blankly at her, trying to process her words. "I can't…"

She shot him a dark glare, short before inquiring to his reasons why.

"I don't know how…"

She laughed. Catherine was actually laughing at him. "You always have humor in you, don't you?" she was still laughing, a grin crossing her face as she began to fill out a form. "Steve and Chessie will be in tomorrow, they're new but they're doing a great job. We have an active case following a 419, stripper, well known at the Tropicana. Steve took a statement from her husband; Chessie is working on talking to her friends."

"You're really serious about this?" Greg asked dully, shaking his head at the same time. He couldn't supervise, he just couldn't. He was still learning himself. What was he supposed to do?

Catherine carried on as though he never had said a word, pressing the piece of paper in his hands. Greg could only stare at the written report, his eyes unable to focus on the writing even though he tried in vain to force them to.

He felt himself shaking, as another breakdown was threatening, illuming, ever growing. Greg shook his head, trying to calm himself down, he just couldn't lose it here, not now. What would everyone say, and even worse, what would they all do?

**TBC**


	6. Satisfaction

**Sorry for the slow updates, I've been having issues with Writer's Block, and it's taken a few tries to get this chapter right. It is a bit short, but there will 'hopefully' be more coming soon. **

**Faraway Dreams, which some of you have been asking about, will be posted once I finish up some of the other stories I have going on, so that I can focus more attention on it, seeing that it will be a bit more complex to write. **

**Thanks goes out to Kegel for her help in this, and to my ever so wonderful muse Jenny. Go check their stuff out if you ever have the time :P**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Satisfaction **

It was placid and quiet, both of which Greg loathed. They had talked some, a faint chatter, and it was apparent that he no longer wanted to talk, but work required a full session visit until his therapist marked him off as being okay. Much to Greg's frustration, the sessions had just started.

"So," his doctor began, his eyes resting on the chart instead of Greg for once that night. "Are you still having these delusions?"

He didn't answer at first. To say he hadn't would be an outright lie, the memories of the day before flooding in quicker than he could shut them out. But to say that he had, would no doubt condemn him to the funny farm. A mental institution was the last place he wanted to be.

Upon his lack of response his doctor nodded, marking a few things down. Greg could only wonder what, and worry that he was scheduling an open spot for him now. He laced his fingers together, trying to decide if the faint silence was a good sign, or a bad one.

The scratching of the pen against paper made him more anxious, and he drew in a breath to try and calm himself. There was no reason for him to be this nervous, he hadn't done anything wrong. But that was exactly what it felt like, and it seemed as though he was waiting for the final punishment to be dealt as he sat there hesitantly.

"You seem nervous," Brewer commented evenly, earning a snort of dissatisfaction from Greg as the young CSI tried to remember exactly why he was here in the first place.

"Considering the circumstances," he pointed out ironically. "I don't know what to think anymore."

The man shifted in his chair, leaning forward as if to study him. "It might help if we discuss some of your past," he offered. "It might trigger a memory response."

Greg had wanted to ask for what the purpose would be, but decided against it. If he hung to the belief or at least the prospect that he was suffering from some sort of memory loss, that alone wasn't half as bad as being deemed crazy. He raised an eyebrow, an indication for the doctor to continue.

"Where would you like to start?"

With another sigh Greg shifted so that he was resting back against the cushions, shaking his head as the man offered him something to drink. It took a moment to recall what they had talked about in their last session, but finally muttered a quiet suggestion.

"How did Grissom die?"

The question had been nagging him since he had learned of his supervisor's fate, yet hadn't been able to even bring up the suggestion around the others. Nick, who to Greg's immense surprise was the head supervisor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, had already come down hard on him for mentioning Grissom the other day. The only reason he didn't end up suspended was because of Sara, who had somehow convinced the Texan that Greg had already been through enough.

Sara of course was touchy with the subject; Greg knew this already. Since then he hadn't even dared to ask, although the question was always burning on his lips. He watched Brewer nod as the doctor moved to his feet, opening one of the file cabinets in the back of the room. It was a first for Greg, who had already assumed the man knew everything.

"Grissom was head of the nightshift when Sara heard about the promotion. He was looking for a swing shift replacement, and the two of you moved to Vegas in hopes of landing the job. Both of you qualified, but Sara was chosen to monitor the swing shift."

Greg nodded only dully as he took in the information. He had no objections to anything at this point in time, almost coming to settle agreement with this new way of life. The CSI decided that if this was how things were going to be, he might as well get used to it all. At least, this was what he tried to convince himself.

"She became close to him then, but kept professional about her work, and her standings. The two of you began to see less of each other, you worked under Grissom, and your hours did not necessarily agree with one another. You shared an apartment for the first few months until she started talking about moving in with Grissom instead. They were dating at that time, at the disapproval of the others in charge."

Greg, at this point, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The thought of Sara dating Grissom made him ill almost. He always knew that Sara had a thing for him, but never dreamed of it actually becoming a romantic possibility.

"You were working the scene with him when he was killed," Brewer's voiced changed, becoming more sympathetic. "It was raining, and the two of you were working a case alongside the road when a car passing by lost control. You were taken to the hospital with a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, as well as some injuries to the head and various bruising. Grissom passed away shortly after being struck. It was a tragic event, and that perhaps is the sole reason why you can't remember any of it. Your mind has filtered it out, choosing not to remember the most painful instances of your life."

It seemed reasonable enough, and it chilled him to the bone to think of Grissom going in that sort of way. Greg had always pictured the man living to an extreme age before finally passing off quietly. Not alone in the depths of the night with a torrent of rain assaulting them both.

"Sara became withdrawn after that," Brewer continued, as if not noticing the eerie look that held fast on Greg's face. "As you can imagine his death had a lot of effect on her. She went to work, then proceeded to come home and lock herself away in her room. She hardly ate, and barely slept. It wasn't until after she tried to kill herself that you sought professional help."

This one had caught Greg by surprise, and he eyed the doctor wearily. Sara did have her problems, but none of which she tried to solve with the blade of a razor, or a bottle of pills, at least this was his hope.

"You tried to care for her yourself at first, but drained already from your physical injuries and the taxing toll of the stress and worry you found that you could not properly attend to her emotions. You became concerned, but it didn't install a fear until you found her that one night after getting off shift."

"What happened?" Greg asked the question uneasily, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the answer. Part of him knew that he wouldn't be satisfied unless he did, and so he sat quietly, waiting for the dreaded answer to come.

"She had tried overdose on a prescription drug," Brewer nodded towards him sympathetically. "Fortunately with the combination of alcohol, it only proceeded to make her sick. You found her passed out on the floor, and called in for help. Two days later, when she got out, Sara had her first session with me."

Greg let out the breath he had been holding, although already knowing that Sara had been okay in the end, in order for her to be doing so well know. He was shaking slightly, a small tremor in his hands and he closed them into fists, willing them to stop. It went unseen by his therapist, who continued on with the story in a somber voice.

"She trusted you, and still does to this day. You've been her support for so long. A lot of people assume that she's the dominant, and Sara portrays herself in such that way most of the time, but she's repeatedly informed me that if you were to suddenly leave, she wouldn't be able to hold herself together. It's the one reason you've stayed here for so long."

"Why am I so important to her?"

"You stood up for her," Brewer replied simply, twirling the pencil around in his one hand. "It took months of therapy, months of sleepless nights, and ever continuing encouragement to bring her back around, but in the end the both of you won. Sara's work ethic went up, as did her self-esteem, and that was when the two of you began dating. About a year after his death, the replacement night shift supervisor left for other work, and Sara was moved to graveyards while someone else filled the swing shift position. You continued to work as a CSI, but complications arouse out of your standings with Sara. You wanted to either transfer to another lab, or run for a supervisor position. Sara began to act suicidal once again until you agreed to stay with her."

"Doesn't that seem selfish?" Greg asked him pointedly, frowning at his doctor.

"You're a good friend, and it's obvious that you care more about Sara than you do about other aspects of life. You've given up a lot to make her satisfied."

"But never happy," Greg interjected.

His therapist smiled sadly, his eyes closing halfway as he began to write on the paper once more. "The question is 'was she ever truly happy?'"

**TBC**


	7. Down Hill

**Thanks goes** **out to _Kegel_ for looking this over for me, and to _Jenny_ who always puts up with no matter what. **

Sorry for the long delays once again, it is never my intention to wait this long in-between posts, but sometimes the chapters just don't want to be written. Hopefully that will not be the case with the next one.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Downhill**

As soon as he heard the opening and closing of the front door, Greg knew he was in for it. The bitter smell of alcohol was still on his lips even as he sucked greedily at the small peppermint, a faint hope of masking his reckless behavior. There was no doubt in his mind that Sara would query him on his whereabouts. Not only did he dodge out of work unexcused, but he hadn't answered his phone the entire morning, even going as far as to turn it off after the forty-eighth recorded call came in.

Sara, at first, seemed surprised to see him there, although with a little speculation she could have figured it out, seeing that his car was in the driveway, and that the door was unlocked when she came through.

Still, there was a look of wonderment on her face as she set her things down, moving closer to him as though to make sure he was real, and not just a figment of her imagination. After a long silent look crossed between the pair she seemed satisfied, moving back to put away the freshly bought groceries.

"You didn't come back to work," she commented dryly, breaking the strenuous tension between them. It was an obvious statement, one that they both knew already. Greg knew she was trying to make small talk, but he wanted no part of it. It was now he wished desperately that he had his own room. At least then he could block out all this nonsense, and it was nonsense.

The session with the therapist had continued to go downhill, to the point where Greg felt worse by the time he left than before he had gone in. It was a striking realization to learn that his sole dependency was to be there for Sara. He would never have thought to hate any form of relationship between him and Sara, but this situation could hardly be called that. He was her drug, and Sara was a heavy addict.

To make matters worse, Greg had ventured to bring up his family, only to learn the horrid truth that he had walked out on them. After disapproving of Sara none the less. According to his doctor's sources, Greg hadn't held contact with any of them for nearly ten years.

It was a crushing blow. It was one thing for his family to have abandoned him, then at the very least he could be angry. But the simple thought that he had all but left them, there was no one to blame but himself. Had he truly left them all behind for Sara?

His devotion was admirable, but disgusting. To know that he had all but thrown his life away for a woman was unnerving. Was he really this…pathetic? At one point in his life, or at least what he assumed was his life, Greg was more than willing to share a lifetime with Sara. But that was to be a part of her life…something that they could share together.

"Your doctor told me that you left the session early…there was plenty of time for you to come back in. We had a heavy workload without you."

"I thought the sessions were confidential," Greg muttered crisply, making sure to be loud enough for her to hear. There was little chance of that they were, seeing how Sara was not only his supervisor, but head of the entire nightshift as well. It was her job to ensure not only his well being, but the stability of the entire lab. He couldn't work in the field until his sessions were validated as being successful.

"To an extent," Sara replied in the same cold manner, closing the cupboard above her. It was to Greg's surprise to see her standing over him the next moment, a plate in her hand. Greg moved up quickly as she sat down next to him, offering up the fresh ham sandwich, which he turned down with the wave of his hand.

He couldn't eat, not even if he was hungry. Sara shot him a questioning look, but said nothing as she set the plate down on the end table. "Where were you?"

"Out," Greg replied simply, not caring to go into further detail. If Sara was upset about him missing work, what would she do upon finding out that he had gone to a bar? He had other problems to worry about though, sensing the almost immediate change in the atmosphere around her as she shifted, turning to face him.

"Out where?"

"Just out," Greg answered, his eyes fixed straight on the entertainment center before him. He had no obligations to Sara, had no reason nor want to discuss his every move with her. She wasn't his mother, and she certainly wasn't his wife. There was no way in hell he was going to let her interrogate him.

"Out at Jefferson?" Sara asked coldly then, moving to her feet in an abrupt motion. She gauged his perplexed expression quickly, before huffing. "I know you were out there, so don't even try to deny it."

"Does it matter?" Greg finally managed to respond, his mind sorting through the possible ways she could have known, and further more why she would even care about it all so much.

"You can compromise the entire case," she nearly shouted, her voice straining as she did so. It was Greg's turn to double back, but before he could even get a word of his own out she was already talking once again. Yelling would be more of an accurate description.

"I know you're upset about losing that case, we all are. And you would know that if you took a second of your precious time to pay attention to what's happening around you!"

"What are you talking about?" Greg cut in, astonishment crossing his face. The sudden outburst had caught him completely off guard, leaving him grasping for the edges in a vast reality that was spinning around faster than he could keep up. "What case?"

"Don't play stupid Greg," Sara chastised him angrily. "You left work early to go back to the primary scene. It's not under our jurisdiction anymore. If that officer hadn't reported you being there to us, and instead had gone straight to the FBI, you could be out of a job. Do you not realize how that could screw up our lifestyle?"

"Our lifestyle?" Greg repeated, his voice faltering as he wondered if that was all she really cared about.

"I can't support everything on just my paycheck," she pointed out callously, "And I refuse to move into an apartment. It's just not going to happen."

Greg frowned, coming close to pointing out that he had lived in apartments for most of his life, and that there was nothing wrong with them, but thought the better of it as her face grew tense, Sara obviously well beyond angry and into furious now.

"There will be no more going back there, no more short days off work, no coming in late and no leaving early unless I say otherwise, and you will keep your cell phone on you at all times and answer it the first time. Do you understand?"

Greg laughed, his small mockery catching in his throat. Exactly who did she think she was? He shook his head as he moved to his feet, knowing that asking would more or less be pointless. He no longer cared, he had simply had enough.

"Where are you going?" Sara's voice was a notch above where it had been last time, but Greg did not even dare to stop, or turn around.

"Out," he replied easily, the same response he had given her maybe fifteen minutes ago. Reaching the door he turned around, meeting her gaze. "I'm leaving."

"Fine," Sara nodded to him, her voice was crisp and solid. "Go, but don't expect to come back."

* * *

Greg was never really sure what provoked him into coming here. Aside from the fact he had only a twenty in his wallet, which more or less wiped out any chance of residing in a cheap motel, Catherine's place was the first that came to mind. Sure, he had tried other options, had almost gone to Nick's, but chickened out at the last moment when he remembered how the Texan had been irritated at him earlier for everything that was going on. Somehow it seemed as though he sided with Sara, and often. Greg decided to skip him all together.

Warrick was never one to really listen, or seem to listen, from Greg's point of view. The man could provide the support needed when asked, but it just felt awkward. Grissom was obviously out of the question as well. Still, he sat outside in his car for near an hour before working up the courage to go knock on the door.

He almost turned around, almost left, more determined to spend the rest of the morning cruising the town, and then finding a spot to crash for the day. But Greg also knew that temperatures would climb to the triple digits, perhaps beyond it today, and sleeping in his car would more or less be suicide. Under a tree or on a park bench was also out of question, as was work. No, he needed somewhere to stay.

The look on his face had to be close to the one on Warrick's when the door opened, the man obviously had just gotten up, still dressed in his nightwear. He leaned against the door, studying the younger CSI as if hoping to find a reason for being here. Greg was mentally cursing himself, just having finally put two and two together. Of course he and Catherine would be living together, they were engaged.

"I um…" Greg cleared his throat, trying to pull up a reasonable excuse as he looked away. What exactly was he going to say? He felt like little more than an idiot now, hands in his pocket as he shuffled from foot to foot. Warrick was still watching him, but it was Catherine's voice that caught his attention.

He glanced up in time to see her coming out into the entry way, tying the sash on her bathrobe. Her expression was one of concern, rather than surprise like the one on Warrick's face. "Greg? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Greg drew in a breath, his eyes grazing across the morning skies. "I shouldn't have come here, I'll just go."

It was a lame response, but all he could manage to come up with. He was halfway across the driveway when Catherine caught up to him, her bare feet slapping against the concrete. Greg didn't hesitate when she tried to turn him around, only standing there looking like a scolded child as she took in his appearance.

"Greg?" she asked again, her voice now clearly worried as she watched him.

"It's nothing," he shrugged it off; forcing a smile so she wouldn't worry. "Sara and I had a few words…"

"And you need a place to stay?" Catherine finished off with a nod. Greg smiled sheepishly but tried to wave it off as no big deal.

"I can find somewhere else, it's not a problem. I forget that you and Warrick were…well, you and Warrick. I just didn't think."

"Greg," Catherine's voice was stern, mother like, the same tone he had always known whenever she became serious. "We have plenty of room for you here tonight, and trust me, I know how Sara can get sometimes."

It was an offering, a pleading almost, as she took a step back toward the house, one hand still resting on his shoulder. Warrick had already gone back inside, and without any further thought Greg finally agreed to come inside. After all, where else could he go?

TBC


	8. Unsure

**Thanks go out to Jenny and Kegel for help with this. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Unreal**

"You don't really have to do all of this," Greg said quietly, watching as Catherine tucked in the last sheet. The blonde woman took a quick second to glance up at him, before turning back to her task at hand.

"And what do you expect me to do?"

Greg watched her with a sigh, already feeling guilty. He had told her several times that he was willing to find another place, but she simply refused to cast him out. She had even gone as far as instructing him to shower, having Warrick leave a fresh change of clothes for him when he was finished.

The clothes were a bit big on him, but it was doable, at least for a few hours when he would be hopefully sleeping. Greg hadn't seen the other man around more than a handful of times, noticing he seemed to disappear straight away. He was hoping that he hadn't interrupted anything, but Catherine was quick to assure him otherwise, stating that they needed to get ready for their shift anyways.

Greg knew that was a polite way of saying that he had. He had taken the opportunity in the shower to curse himself a few extra times, unbelieving on how stupid he truly was. It was hard to remember what was what, and what had actually changed. Perhaps the only thing he was thankful for was that Catherine seemed to have retained her mother like stature, perhaps the only reason he was here, and not hiding away at some park.

Finally pulling back Catherine dropped the two pillows at one end of the couch, turning towards Greg as she did so. "Lindsay's at a friends' house and won't be home till after school. Go ahead and make yourself at home, just try and not leave too big of a mess." She smiled warmly at him, as if sensing his apprehension. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need to."

"How about forever?" Greg asked mildly, relieved to hear her laugh.

"I'd have to charge you rent then," she drew in a breath. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Greg stood for a moment, almost ready to shake his head, trying to reason with himself. He didn't need to know, but the question was gnawing away at him. Letting out a breath he nodded. "What do you know about the Jefferson case?"

His response was stunned silence. Catherine watched him for a moment, before shaking her head. "You and Sara were the leads on that," she told him quietly, "I only logged in evidence, and ran through some database reports."

Greg raised an eyebrow, as if pleading with her to understand. He didn't feel much like pointing out the fact he had no idea what anyone was talking about. Thankfully though she was able to put two and two together, and nodded quickly, remembering all that had happened in the past few days.

"A 419, young male in his late twenties, early thirties. COD was a gunshot wound to the abdomen, he bled out. Why do you want to know?'

"Is there a name?" Greg asked instead, ignoring her last statement.

"John Doe as of now, no identification was found, and no one's made a claim."

"Dental records?" Greg suggested, fully ignoring her perplexing look.

"Nothing," she replied, "Why so curious?"

"It's just…Sara said we lost the case…"

"FBI took it over," Catherine nodded, "as soon as we ran out of leads. Both you and Sara were reprimanded by the Sheriff, and placed on probation."

"Probation?" Greg frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "Exactly how does that work out?"

"Less field work, and closer supervision. You and Sara made some costly mistakes, cross contaminated some evidence. It's more or less forgotten by now, but that was what made us lose it in the first place."

"I'm sorry," Greg apologized without even realizing what he was doing. Catherine just smiled, and motioned the couch as she turned away.

"If you need anything I'll have my cell with me, don't hesitate to ask." She had said everything while gathering her belongings, and heading out the door. With a tempered sigh Greg sat himself down on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around his torso.

He wasn't any more comfortable here than he was back at his place…his and Sara's that was. For a brief moment he had wondered what Sara was up to, but didn't ponder over it for very long, his thoughts already focusing on the case.

The case at Jefferson…the db that matched the same description, the same COD. It was all too familiar, he had seen it before. It was his case…he had gone back out to verify an answer…ask a few more questions. That's when everything had changed.

Maybe he wasn't as crazy as he thought. Greg weighed the facts heavily, arms resting on his knees as he crouched over, trying to sort through the ideas. It was something about the case, that was the turning point. As crazy as it sounded, Greg was afraid to admit that he might be right.

Now the hard part was trying to figure out what, and even harder…trying to convince the others. Maybe it would be easier to do the latter first, then at least he wouldn't be trying to solve the impossible alone. Closing his eyes he leaned back against the pillow, stretching his legs out above the pile of blankets Catherine had left him.

John Moore was their victim, Greg remembered that clearly. It was the only difference between the cases. There was a name to put with the face. John had been in a string of illegal thefts, petty robberies, breaking and entering into businesses. There had been an overwhelming list of suspects, and after three straight shifts, back to back, he and Sara had managed to narrow it down to just over a dozen possibilities.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, nothing that was high priority, or driven by time, or the lack of it. There was no kidnapping, no ransom…no nothing. Just a general case. Why then, was it so different, why had it changed everything?

He shifted, rolling to his side to glance at the clock with a frown. It had barely been half an hour since Catherine's departure, and while her generosity was overwhelming, Greg was having a hard time accepting it all. With such crazy thoughts racing through his head he had to wonder if he would ever get any sleep at all.

Instead he closed his eyes, trying to remember what he could of the case. He could remember that Moore had a six year old son who was being raised by a brother, the boy's mother had abandoned him shortly after birth and the current time her whereabouts were unknown. She did, however, have several complaints filed against their victim, all of which were never seen in court. It made her a possible suspect, but without real proof of any interaction with her estranged boyfriend, there was little chance of making a connection. Last he had heard, Brass was trying to pull some information up on her.

The silence was shattered by the unmistakable ring of his phone, and Greg sat up quickly, letting out a curse. He had left his phone in the pocket of his pants…and his pants had gone through the wash, courtesy of Catherine, of course. It hadn't taken him long to find it, spilling words of quiet thanks when he found it sitting on the counter. At least she had been smart enough to empty the contents of his pocket first.

However, the phone's shrill ringing ended the moment he placed his hand on the small device, and while it was mildly irritating that he nearly stumbled halfway across the house, Greg was thankful that he had indeed missed it. The caller ID clearly displayed Sara's number and Greg shut it with a sigh. What could Sara possibly want now? Had she not already done enough?

It was unsurprising that he received a message a few minutes later. For a long moment he stared at it, before finally deleting it without so much as reading it. He wasn't ready to put up with Sara, and he didn't have to either. He hadn't made any commitments to her.

He headed back to the couch, sitting down with a sigh, the sudden realization that he wouldn't get any sleep coming to him. Glancing at the clock he noted he still had a good six hours before he would even think about getting ready for shift, Greg decided to give up, and just go in early.

* * *

As tired as he was Greg knew he had worse. It vaguely reminded him of the triple he had once pulled, a total of thirty six hours logged in just under two days. It was still four hours until he was supposed to be working, and he took the opportunity to get a large cup of coffee, and a seat on the couch, and a certain case file.

Taking a long sip of the aromatic blend he placed the cup down on the nearby end table, turning his attention only then to the folder in his lap. The case may have been closed, at least for them, but all information pertaining to it would still be recorded.

Flipping through the pages he let out a silent scowl, finding hardly anything. But then again what was he expecting? Everything else had changed for him, why not the case as well? He came to a stop at the pictures however, taking a long good look at the body. It was too far away to tell features, or injuries of any sort. Just enough to show location and position of the body, but nothing more than that.

Letting out a disgusted sigh he closed the folder, looking up as Catherine came in. She gave him a curious look before digging into the small fridge on the other side of the room. "You're here early," she remarked, sitting down next to him with a yogurt in hand.

"Couldn't sleep," Greg admitted dryly. "I appreciate all that you've done, don't get me wrong. There's just a lot on my mind, that's all."

"You and Sara?" she wondered mildly, hardly even looking at him.

Greg raised a curious eyebrow at first, but then nodded suddenly. It wasn't really what was bothering him, but the alternate was too difficult to explain, and fairly pointless to do so.

"Don't worry," she assured him quietly, her voice dropping down into a whisper. "The two of you will be back together in no time. Your fights never last for long."

"So we've had fights before?" Greg remarked, somewhat of a question, but more of a confirmation for himself.

"Always the same," she nodded, "But Sara never stays mad for long. She really cares for you."

"Yeah," Greg muttered his response quietly, but laughed dryly on the inside. As if you could really call Sara's domineering ways caring. Still it was just easy to pretend that it was, that and the simple fact that Greg honestly didn't want to talk about it. However he really didn't need to worry about that, as Catherine quickly changed the topic.

"You want to do a favor for me?"

He shrugged his shoulders, unsure of whether she was truly asking, or demanding in a polite way. Catherine had taken the last bite of her yogurt, moving to her feet.

"Brass is bringing in a suspect that I need to interview in about five minutes, so I can't go far, and I need an autopsy report. If you can just pull it up and set it on my desk for me that would be wonderful."

"Do I get brownie points?" Greg wondered mildly, cracking a small grin. It worked, the blonde laughing sweetly. It was a welcoming feature that he could still be himself, or at least who he once was.

"Robert Sanchez," she told him, smiling still. "Just let Robbins know you're taking it out for me."

Greg nodded readily, finishing up his coffee in one last swig before heading out. If it was something that kept him going, kept him from running into Sara perhaps, then he was willing.

It hadn't taken him long to get there, and he found the room unusually empty. Usually Robbins or Dave was there, or at least nearby. Even now he still couldn't shake the eerie feeling he got from being in this place. He should be used to it by now, at least one would think.

Greg shrugged it off, going over to the file cabinets as he sorted through them. He knew that as long as he left a signed note stating what he had taken there would be no harm or foul. He would just have to remember to state that it was for Catherine, and not himself.

Fingering over the files he finally came to the one he needed, grasping in and pulling it free. He was about to pull away, but a single marked folder not only caught his eye, but his breath as well.

For a short, brief moment everything seemed to stop, and it was as if Greg had lost all conscious thought as he dropped the current folder on the floor, reaching in now for the new one. It had to be a mistake, there was no other way to explain it, there had to be an error, a typo…or maybe even a double, a twin…a freaky coincidence. It had to be something…

But there was nothing he could do or say that would change the words on the top of the folder. Nothing he could do to erase the bold print, the capital letters that displayed his very own name.

**TBC**


	9. Rationalizations

**Thanks goes out to Kegel for giving this a once over, and to Jenny for her help in this as well. The reviews are wonderful motivation btw, keep them up :D**

**Chapter Nine: Rationalizations **

He wasn't sure what else to do, other than stare at the information he held in his hands. Some time had passed before he found himself reeling, and Greg stumbled back until he found the empty chair, taking the seat quickly. He couldn't really be dead…Greg shook his head, mustering a soft laugh as he flipped it open. Of course he he?

The picture inside said differently, his cold lifeless face staring back up at him. Swallowing quickly he looked away, taking a moment to regain himself. He couldn't lose himself now, he couldn't let himself fall apart, not after everything he had gone through. He tried convincing himself that it still was all one big tasteless joke, but somehow it didn't work. With a final breath he forced himself to look down again, fingering the pages lightly as he began to read.

_"Male Caucasian, late 20s, visible gunshot trauma to the abdomen, two._

_Bullet wounds were not significant to cause of death, signs of hemorrhaging_

_Bullet number one lacerated left lower intestinal wall, bullet number two lacerated spleen _

_Official cause of death__exsanguination_ _due to impact two"_

Greg shook his head as he began flipping through the pages, glancing over the detailed drawings, the tox scans, and autopsy photos before he turned away in disgust. He had no answers, no excuses. There was no possible way anyone could have devised this up, and Robbin's signature on the bottom proved that it was no joke. But if he were really dead…then what was he doing here?

The door opened then, halting any further thought. It took a moment but Greg was soon moving to his feet, a feeble attempt to put the folder away before anyone saw it. The last thing he needed to do was give anyone a reason to lock him away. Even with sure proof in his hand Greg had never felt so close to being crazy in his life, and it was scaring him.

"Greg?"

He barely looked over his shoulder as Robbins hobbled in, for a moment transfixed with the situation at hand. Then he was moving, as if he couldn't get out of there fast enough. He wasn't as agile as he had hoped to be. In the process of trying to get the folder back into the cabinet, he dropped it on the floor.

The pages scattered amongst the other reports he had dropped earlier. Greg was already on his hands and knees picking them up by the time Robbins reached him. The older man watched him with a growing fascination, Greg giving out his quiet apologies.

"I needed a file for Catherine," Greg explained quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. His fingers clutched the folders tightly as he stood up, turning back to the cabinet, avoiding all possible eye contact with the doctor. Behind he heard Robbins chuckle quietly.

"I was wondering when you'd get around to finding that," he commented quietly.

Greg frowned, even as he slipped the folder back into its spot. His fingers still lingered on the top as he turned around. "Sanchez's folder?"

But how would he know that he was collecting unless Catherine had informed him? She was supposedly in an interview, so the possibility of that was slim. Of course she could have told him earlier, but then what reason would she have in sending him down to retrieve it?

It wasn't until Robbins gave him a small smile that Greg realized that wasn't what he was talking about. His attention turned back to the folder his fingers were grazing over. It couldn't be…

"You know about this?"

He was almost afraid to ask. But there had to be some hope, maybe this ever growing nightmare would finally be over. If it was a joke, even though almost all possibility had been dashed, Robbins would be the first to tire of it all. Somehow Greg knew that it wasn't, and he watched with a grim expression as the doctor sat down in a chair not too far from where he stood.

"I should hope so," he replied, "I'm the one who posted your body, and I also performed the autopsy. Top priority case, as is any case where one of our own are killed."

Greg shook his head, finding a chair to sit down in quickly. "So it is true…I really am dead," he mouthed quietly. Then he shook his head, "Wait…I can't both be alive and dead at the same time."

He glanced back up to the doctor who was resting easily, watching the young CSI. "There's no possible way it can be true."

"How else would you explain everything then?" Robbins wondered, indicating to his folder. "Nothing makes sense now, and you know that."

"But you're perfectly comfortable with the fact that you supposedly cut me apart, and removed who knows how many needed organs from my insides, and that you're currently talking to me right now."

"I talk to dead people all the time Greg, why would it all of the sudden make a difference now?" Robbins asked him honestly.

"True," Greg nodded, having to give him that factor, "But do they normally answer you back?"

"Normally?" he wondered, then shook his head, "Not usually."

"Not usually?" Greg frowned, it hadn't been the answer he was expecting. Was this then a common occurrence?

"You would be the first actually," Robbins admitted.

"Well then," Greg cleared his throat, not sure on how he was supposed to feel about that comment. "Since both of us know that I can't be alive and dead at the same time, then where does that leave me?"

He could see the older man thinking it over in his head before nodding. "I'd like to look at it as a second chance in life. Not very many people get one I would presume. I wouldn't take it as any light feat."

"And what if I don't like this life?" Greg raised an eyebrow in question.

"Unfortunately you don't get that choice," the doctor voiced. "You'll have to make do with what you have."

With a sigh Greg tapped the file folder on his knee a few brisk times, an idea slowly coming to him. "I'll show everyone the reports," he said suddenly. "If you can remember what happened then the others…"

"It won't work Greg," Robbins cut in. "I've already tried. All they see is a nameless face, nothing more. Somewhere the thread of time split, and it's like your death never happened."

"And how would it create an alternate past?" Greg wondered out loud. "Or do you not see the difference there?"

"I'd like to see it as a possibility to what could have happened," Robbins stated quietly.

Greg merely frowned, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "How so?"

"We all have opportunities in our lives," the doctor started out, gauging the young CSI's reaction. "Sometimes we take chances, but a lot of us let them pass by. We're afraid of change, and we're afraid of what might come if we upset the balance in our routine lives."

"Warrick and Catherine…Sara and Grissom…" Greg voiced casually.

Robbins nodded, "They both took that opportunity, instead of letting it pass by. If they had problems, they worked through them. They didn't let the fear and worry get in their way. But it's just not about taking chances, or making choices. Sometimes it's about what choices others make. Grissom gave the promotion to Nick, who eventually moved up after Ecklie left the lab. Sara became supervisor after Grissom's death. Instead of delving into DNA as you had before, you expanded your abilities. You started off out in the field right away."

"Then Sara and I hooked up," he muttered quietly. "I should enjoy it…I mean it's what I wanted…or at least what I thought I wanted. But she's changed, everyone's changed…"

"That's what is feared the most," Robbins nodded, "Whatever choices we make we have to deal with the consequences. And sometimes you can't repair things once they are done. We fear change, we fear judgment. Our social stature as humans is important to us. We are afraid to lose what little we do know."

"You seem satisfied with this answer," Greg commented. "How is it that you can remember all of this, but no one else?"

"I've often asked myself the same," Robbins answered. "The timeline started with your death, since I had the last connection to that…to you…that may very well be the reason."

"You aren't concerned though?" Greg wondered, "You're not worried…upset…afraid, that everything has changed, that the impossible has actually happened? That doesn't bother you at all?"

"What exactly do you propose that I do?" Robbins asked in return. When Greg remained silent he continued. "I do only what I can do, I go along with the flow of time. I don't try to change, I just accept it. It may be well time for you to do the same."

"It could still be a dream," Greg argued, not ready to give up just yet.

"It would be quite an elaborate dream." the other man responded. "It's been days now…soon it'll be weeks…months. Are you always going to claim that it's only a dream?"

"Sometimes the subconscious mind can convince you otherwise," Greg pointed out. "A few hours can seem like days…"

"Seem like," Robbins agreed. "But are they ever?"

"I never asked for this," Greg reminded him.

"We never ask for a lot of things," the doctor voiced sadly. "And yet they happen every day. You can't choose what happens in life, but you can choose how to react to it. Either you can fade away and remain in denial. Or you can accept the change and learn to live with it. What is it going to be?"

**TBC**


	10. Hard to Believe

**No beta this time, so all mistakes are mine. I'm loving the comments I'm getting on this, and the reason I'm not responding to anyone is because I don't want to accidentally give anything away. Some very good guessing, and for those of you who are still lost…it'll eventually make sense by the end of the story. At least I'm hoping. :D **

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Ten: Hard to Believe **

Greg found himself working quietly not too much later, slowly going through the mounds of paperwork he and Sara had never gotten to several nights before. A triple homicide after all garnered a lot of hours, a lot of attention, and mountains of evidence. Evidence which still had to be logged in.

He had now been on his own now for quite some time. While the last shift was in full swing the rooms around here had often stayed empty. Everyone was out processing, or interviewing, or chasing false leads. It was a good thing, at least for him. Greg needed the time to think, to clear his head. He wouldn't have the time to himself much longer.

He wasn't happy with the answers he had gotten. He was still convinced that it was a dream…it was the only possible explanation. Any other possible explanation was too far-fetched. Even if Robbin's had seemed most reliable, and though he had found slight relief in the fact that someone else knew what was going on, he still wouldn't except the fate.

One of these days he was going to close his eyes and then wake up to find himself safe in his own bed. He would get up, and go to work, find Grissom sitting at his desk. The man would scold him for coming in early; he already had too much overtime. Greg would have to resist pointing out the older man had more overtime than the entire nightshift had combined.

Sara would be there was well, hair a bit damp, a sure sign that she had once again slept at the lab, taking time to wash her hair in the bathroom sinks. He would toss a few barbs her way, fully in jest, grinning at the kind of responses she would come up with. Later on they would catch some dinner, or breakfast together. However their shifts landed that was.

Catherine would be making the coffee, she normally was the first one in the room. The nightshift had their own special stash, courtesy of Greg. No one wanted the watered down mud flavored brew the other shifts had.

Nick and Warrick would be making some sort of new bet, each trying to out best the other. If the stakes weren't too high Greg would even consider joining in. Not always however…gambling wasn't his thing.

Greg was starting to sorely miss the interaction. It was a clear difference now, it was dead almost, trying to talk to someone, to anyone as a matter of fact was a difficult chore. That was dealing with cases alone. Greg hadn't even ventured trying to discuss other issues. It was a depressing thought. He couldn't deal with this, couldn't handle even thinking that this was all there was to offer. There had to be more in life, this very well couldn't be the end…could it?

"Greg?"

He wasn't surprised to see Sara standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest as she watched him. He turned back to his work without saying so much as a single word, doing his best to stay focused on the task at hand. His last conversation had been depressing enough; he didn't need to add to it.

Sara however had wandered in, and after a moment, took a seat across from him at the table. For a long few minutes he worked in silence, Sara continuing to study him with her head propped up in one hand. Finally she ventured to break the silence.

"Where did you go?"

He didn't stop to answer, in fact he didn't answer at all. Barely acknowledging her he kept to his task, flipping through the pages once he had completed them. It wasn't until her hand came down to rest on his that he paused. Even then he still refused to look at her.

Her touch was so gentle, so soft, and when she spoke her voice was full of concern, a sharp opposition to what it had been the night before.

"Greg...you didn't come home, and none of the hotels had you listed."

"You checked up on me?" Greg asked incredulously, looking up at her sharply now. He wouldn't have even begun to think that it was possible for her to do so. She was never that sneaky, never that...devious.

"I was worried," she protested, pulling her hand away. "Normally you call, or come back home later on. You never just disappear. What was I supposed to do?"

Greg shook his head, disgusted still as he turned away. "I'm fine," he replied bitterly, holding back any other potential thoughts that were running through his mind.

"I want you to come home."

"Why?" He cut her off, "So you can harass me some more?"

"I'm sorry," Sara whispered, leaning over to take his hand again. He brushed her away at first, but gave up the petty fight as she tried again. Her fingers wrapped around his hand, and she tentatively brought it up to her lips, kissing the back of his palm tenderly. "I know I got out of line."

Closing his eyes Greg let out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull away. Her voice was sincere and though he quite enjoyed the attention she was giving him it just didn't feel right. He was supposed to be mad at her, and after the way she had treated him she didn't deserve the easy way out.

"Sara," Greg drew in a heavy breath, closing his eyes. "I don't think this is going to work."

"It can," she interjected quickly, "I can change Greg, I really can…I love you."

"Do you?" Greg wondered, lifting his eyes to match her gaze. "Or am I just an endless charade of one-night-stands?"

She was shaking her head, holding onto his hand tightly. "How can you even think that? We built our lives together...things may not be perfect, but that doesn't change how I feel about you." For a moment she paused, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. "Please…come back home. Please?"

He was never given the chance to answer, Sara quickly turning away as Nick entered the room. Even in the dim lighting Greg could see the tears that ran down her face as she let go of his hand. Greg remained quiet, turning back to watch the Texan pour himself a cup of coffee.

"You two still here?" Nick wondered briefly, glancing at the clock that hung on the wall. Greg followed his gaze, noting that their shift had started nearly ten minutes ago. "Discussing a case are we?"

"It's personal," Greg commented dryly, eyeing the other man.

Nick took a long sip of the steaming liquid, looking from one to the other. To Greg the man was still nothing more than a colleague, and it always took him extra effort to remember that the Texan had more authority than his demanding Sara.

"Personal discussions happen on personal time; right now you need to focus on work."

Greg scowled, but across from his Sara was already nodding. Greg had wanted to take the opportunity to point out that he had been working for some time, but chose to remain quiet about the entire matter. Nick watched quietly as Sara left the room in a hurry, one hand pressed to her face to shield the tears that were surely falling. With a sigh Greg shook his head, stacking the files on top of one another.

"I'd like to see you in my office," Nick's voice was cold, chilling almost.

"I have a case to work," Greg reminded him, coming to a stop by the door. Sara would more in likely be waiting already. "We're already late."

"It won't take long," the man smiled at him briefly, brushing past him as he left the room. With a silent gulp he gazed down the hallway that Sara had taken, surprisingly disappointed in seeing it empty, before following Nick down the other way.

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"You can close the door."

Greg's fingers still lingered on the knob, for a moment wondering if that would be the wisest thing to do or not. Nick's back was to him, the other man hardly paying any attention to what was actually going on. Instead he was occupied with going through the filing cabinet behind his desk. With a regretful sigh he did as he was asked, sliding uneasily into one of the chairs that were provided.

It was Ecklie's old office…or at least he supposed. There was no real way of knowing if Ecklie had ever been the head of the lab or if Nick had taken over before the other man could. After all, Ecklie hadn't always been in the lead. He rested his head on his hand, his elbow propped up on one of the arm rests. Several long, tedious moments passed in silence, Greg finally clearing his throat in pure irritation.

Nick glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head as he turned back to the cabinets. A few seconds later he turned around, sliding the drawer closed. "I just wanted to make sure everything between you and Sara was okay," he started sincerely.

"What happened to personal lives, personal time?" Greg questioned coldly.

"You forget that Sara is your superior," Nick reminded him sternly. "As am I. You may want to start thinking about showing some respect."

"This has nothing to do with respect," Greg started, ready to argue his case. Nick hadn't let him get that far however.

"It has everything to do with respect." Nick moved from his seat, walking over to where he stood. Greg couldn't help but flinch uncomfortably as Nick knelt down next to him, meeting his gaze. "You know I care about her. We could have been happy together, but she didn't want me. She wanted you. She trusts you, and if you do anything, anything to hurt her, I will make sure you regret it."

He was taken aback by the comment, blinking several times before responding. "Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not," the other man replied, moving back to his feet. "Because that would be illegal. But keep in the mind the only reason you have a job here is because of an error I let slide. All I would have to do is pull your files," he let his fingers drift over the folder he left sitting on his desk before opening it.

"Failure to properly label evidence, nearly lost the case in court," Nick read, pushing the file towards him. "I failed on my part by allowing you to proceed. However I felt you were capable of getting the job done correctly."

"And have I let you down since then?" Greg wondered, eyes grazing over the records. He frowned as Nick closed the folder, tucking it back under his arm.

"Unfortunately for me, no. All I would have to do however is present this to the sheriff. He would have you pulled out of the field faster than you would think. Of course you would be given a second chance, but since I oversee every proficiency there would be no way you would pass."

"That's blackmail," Greg told him quietly. "Which may I remind you is illegal."

"No," Nick shook his head calmly. "It's nepotism. That's only frowned upon. And since you would be the only one speaking out against it, it would be seen as behavioral problems, nothing more. We don't want that kind of people in our lab."

"I can report you," Greg warned him, feeling uneasy as the Texan only smiled.

"You do that. But considering your record as of late. Therapy sessions, leaving work unexcused, coming in late, entering a closed crime scene, ignoring instructions given to you by your superiors. You have quite a record already. You're lucky all of this stays behind closed doors as it is. At the rate you're going, I won't even need to interfere."

"This isn't fair," Greg responded meekly, feeling the knots forming in his stomach as he began to see he had no real way out.

"Life isn't fair Greg," Nick told him coldly, turning away. "You're late for work, you have ten minutes. If I find that you haven't reported to Sara by then I can assure you it will be recorded. I'll be checking up with Sara as well later in the week. If I hear any negative reports I'll make sure the sheriff gets your record. You're excused."

Greg only nodded, teeth clenched tightly as he moved to his feet. He could feel the Texan's eyes boring into him from behind as he opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. He could no longer deny it. This was no dream.

It was a nightmare.

**TBC**


	11. Unforgivable Actions

**Thanks go out to Kegel for betaing this, and to Jenny for _always_ putting up with me, not matter how much I whine about I can't write, and then convincing me that I can. So if don't like the chapter you can just blame her (hehe, just kidding)**

**Anyways, I'm off to hide…for now…maybe longer….-slinks away-**

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**Chapter Eleven: Unforgivable Actions **

There wasn't anything said between them for the rest of the night. At least nothing more than what was needed. The silence was unnerving to Greg, who had often sought for something to occupy any still moments. If the change was noticeable, no one commented on it. It wasn't surprising that Sara hadn't picked up on it, she was simply refusing to acknowledge his mere existence; but even Brass who took the time to notice some of the smaller details had chosen to remain quiet.

Sara's anger ran deeper than just her silence. Upon returning to the lab, she had instructed Greg to take over, citing that he could easily handle it with his lack of attendance the previous week. He couldn't manage to find his own anger at her unfair directions. Instead he found relief in the quietness of the lab, using the time to sort through his thoughts.

Nick's threats still rang clear in his mind. Though it worried him, Greg couldn't help to think what would happen if he did leave the crime lab. He obviously wasn't happy here, and perhaps he had never been. Was it possible then to be even unhappier if he did leave? His mind raced at the idea, taking in Doc Robbin's words from earlier. Should he just give in, accept the fact that things were never going to be the same again and continue on, or should he keep trying to fight for what he was certain was true?

By the time he actually got around to finishing his job, which was no more than logging the evidence in, Swings had already begun. Greg knew it had taken him longer than normal to finish the procedural step, but he hadn't been aware of how slow he actually had been working.

He kept his head down in the halls as he darted back to the locker room, more than ready to depart. His shift would start again in just a few hours, it would give him enough time to catch a bit of sleep. It was sleep he desperately needed as well. With the troublesome thoughts weighing him down he was far more exhausted mentally than physically, but that on top of the lack of sleep didn't bode well for him.

In front of his locker he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a yawn as he fiddled with the combination, frowning as it would not open. He shook his head tiredly, grimacing as he swore he could feel his brains sloshing inside of his weary head. He was so exhausted that he could probably sleep on the floor and be comfortable.

"You're here early."

Greg only glanced his way, raising an eyebrow before turning back to his locker, trying to remember the combination, trying to remember if he was doing it right or not.

"Or very late," Warrick continued, finally catching the drift as he came up behind him. With a short laugh the older man shook his head. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to open my locker," Greg muttered, letting out a curse as the small device once again failed to open. At this rate his shift would start before he got it open. This of course wasn't anything new, not exactly anyways. His lock had been sticking for quite some time, just not this bad. He had talked to Grissom about it, the man promising to find a new lock for him. Of course Grissom wasn't around, so a lot of good that did. Plus the fact that his stubborn lock was the only thing that refused to change.

"I'm no expert when it comes to lockers and all," Warrick started up behind him, drawing a long sigh from Greg. "But it might work if you actually tried opening your own."

Of course. He hadn't even stopped to think about it, had actually forgotten that his locker was no longer _his _locker, but someone else's. He now had one closer to the front, with a new combination as well. With embarrassment burning in his cheeks he gave the other man a short nod, promptly moving up several steps. Greg had it open within the first try.

"Thanks," he mumbled quietly, easing himself down on the bench. He was almost too tired to care that he felt like an idiot, but it was hard with the other man always watching. Greg tried to hurry himself along a bit, without really appearing to do so as he reached in for his regular shoes.

"Catherine and I just finished our shift, we're headed out to get something to eat, you want to come along?"

The offer was tempting, as his stomach started to gurgle in response. Greg couldn't remember the last real meal he had, relying only on a handful of snacks to keep him going. Even so he shook his head, one hand on the locker door as he shut it.

"Thanks, but I should be heading home," he replied meekly. As he turned to leave he heard Warrick start again, and Greg paused, turning back to face him.

"Whatever Nick told you, don't let it get you down. He's mostly just talk, he likes to sound big, but he's pretty easy going, as long as you don't get him going."

Greg had wanted to point out that Nick was already angry with him, but decided to keep quiet. The last thing he needed was to start spreading rumors about his head supervisor. He wasn't quite sure yet if a change of scenery was something he actually wanted.

"If you ever need a place, our house is always open. That goes for both you and Sara," Warrick continued, offering up a small shrug.

Greg returned it with a smile, feeling at least somewhat grateful that someone was trying to understand. He wouldn't be surprised to find out that it had been Catherine to demand the man to do the offering, expecting it from her more than anyone else. "That means a lot," he told him quietly. "It really does."

Warrick just nodded, collecting his own stuff as he made his way out of the room. Greg was not too far behind him. He didn't want to go home, afraid almost to know what things would be like if he did. Then again what choice did he really have? Nick was watching him like a hawk, and unless he proved himself to Sara who knew of the consequences that would follow.

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Sara was asleep when he arrived home. Or at least she seemed to be. The lights were off in the kitchen, only the hallway light let out a dim glow as he kicked off his shoes, draping his coat over the back of the easy chair. She was resting on her side, facing toward the window as he climbed into bed, resting his head on the pillows right behind her.

As he moved closer he was able to smell the sweet fruit scent of her shampoo, and he inhaled deeply, gently reaching out to run his fingers through her hair, wanting so much for things to be how he had always dreamed them to be. He could imagine it as well, imagine lying here, holding her close. The problem was that a relationship did not work only one way. He could try and love Sara, but if she did not give him the same effort back, what then? There was a strong line between love, and need. And Sara seemed to be leaning more on the side of need than anything else.

His wandering fingers stilled as she shifted, rolling to face him. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she hadn't had any sleep, the red puffiness an indicator that she had been crying instead. Greg felt himself tense, fingers curling into his palm as he drew back a little, uncertain of what she was going to say, if anything.

The silence was straining, and Sara was avoiding his gaze, looking blankly at the wall instead. He waited a few moments longer before reaching out, cupping her hand in his. She responded to that, pulling her own hand away at the sudden contact. She obviously was still angry at him, and Greg was close to giving up. Twenty-four hours ago she was babbling like an idiot, stumbling over her words as she apologized. Now she was angry because he hadn't accepted it. At every turn he did something wrong, and the stress was starting to amount.

"Sara…"

"Don't," she was quick to cut him off, shaking her head as she rolled onto her back. "Don't be saying things you don't mean."

"I am sorry," Greg said, not really sure why he was apologizing, it just felt right. "I don't like it when we fight."

At least that much was true. Fighting was his last resort; he would often pull away from a heated argument, more than ready to end the confrontation. But he also hated seeing Sara depressed like this. What made it even worse was the fact he was the cause of this depression, intentionally or not.

"Everything I do just isn't enough," Sara whispered quietly, eyes drifting back towards him. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Letting out a patient sigh he moved closer to her, grateful that she did not try to draw away this time as he touched her, running his fingers down her arm. It did not take long before she was curled up against him, head buried against his chest as he rubbed her back in soothing circles.

"We just hit a bump in the road; things will get back to normal before long…"

He muttered the phrase with little to no hope. After all, what was normal? Greg could feel her nod under his hold, and he rested his head against hers, closing his eyes. This…he could stay like this forever. He would be willing to hold her close like this forever, even if it was the most he ever got out of their so-called relationship.

"I'm sorry I left you with all the work," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his t-shirt. "I just needed some time alone…"

At that Greg could have scoffed. There were plenty of things she could have done to help and still be on her own at the same time. She chose, however, the one thing that did nothing to help. It was selfish, yes, but Greg didn't want to point it out, fearing the start of yet another quarrel. He honestly couldn't handle it if another one happened.

The soft lips on his caught him off guard, and he barely had time to respond before they pulled away. Sara had moved closer to him, her eyes closed as she drifted off into sleep, her silent words echoing throughout the darkness.

"I love you."

Greg didn't know if Sara knew what love truly was, but accepted it as a peace offering before he too fell into a dreamless sleep.

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It was the stomping that first woke him. Not the yelling, not the slamming of doors, not even the throwing of things around. When he was exhausted he slept, and soundly. But the vibrations of each pounding footstep woke him quickly, and though he knew something was amiss his jumbled mind couldn't quite pick up what exactly.

He could hear Sara muttering under her breath as she came into the room, opening a few of the dresser drawers before slamming them shut once again. Greg winced, his head already pounding as he resorted to hiding under the pillows, a faint attempt to block out some of the noise. It worked, but only for a short time.

With a groan he pushed himself up some, glaring as the brunette came back into the room, carrying another armload of clothes. After opening and forcibly closing the third drawer Greg had a fairly good idea that she was not in the best of moods. But neither was he.

"Sara, please, I'm trying to sleep," he complained groggily, rubbing his now-sensitive head.

"Well, someone has to do the work around here," Sara grumbled, moving to her feet. "Besides, we have to leave for work in an hour anyways."

"That's an hour I'd like to sleep," Greg pointed out in return, pulling the covers up around his chin. Sara knew he had far less sleep than she did, so why then was she making this so difficult?

"Go ahead then," Sara told him, her voice on the edge of sweet and onto a dangerous level. "You can't even take care of your stuff, why the hell would you help around the house then?"

"Just leave it," Greg grumbled, acclimated to just leaving things where they dropped. After all, he was always able to find whatever he needed, when he needed it. So what then, was the big deal?

"Just leave it?" Sara repeated. Greg cracked one eye open, watching her as she stood just in front of him, hands on her hips. "Just leave it? Our house, our home, our future together, you just want me to forget about it?"

"A few dirty clothes isn't going to change anything," Greg protested, mildly irritated. Working tonight was going to be a nightmare. He was exhausted as it was, and his stress level was already climbing. He longed for the previous night when all was said in quiet hushed tones.

"Do you even care?" Sara asked skeptically, her voice fading for a moment. "Or is all you've ever told me just a bunch of lies?"

There wasn't a better irony than that there. It was Sara who had been feeding him the false promises, the fictitious leads, the deceiving hopes. Every time he felt as though things were getting better, as though he might have a chance at what he had hoped would be happy life, Sara brought him back to the cold hard reality. The question still remained, did he really care?

"You don't care about me…about us," Sara continued after his indecisive pause, her head shaking sadly. "You've always been jealous that I've been the better one…you've always wanted what I have…"

"Sara, that's insane," Greg started, irritated that she was now trying to make him the bad guy in all of this.

"It's true, isn't it? That's the only reason you've stayed with me so long…you think that if you just take what you know, and get rid of me that you'll benefit from it all?"

She wasn't making much sense now, one hand resting on the wall as she muttered to herself more than to anyone else. With a dreaded sigh Greg sat up on the side of the bed, knowing now that he wasn't going to be getting anymore sleep. He watched her curiously now, no longer having the motivation to argue with her, to inform her she was wrong. She wasn't going to listen, so why even waste his breath?

"It would be easy," she muttered softly. "You're the only one qualified to fill my spot, and you know the only reason I still work there is because you've encouraged me. Now you're here, doing everything you can to make me feel like I have no other choice but to resign…why would you do that?"

He only shook his head, rubbing his eyes wearily as he moved to his feet. If she was as she had always been, all she needed was some time alone. Somehow his being there just seemed to influence her mood swings all the more. As he moved though she pressed her back against the wall, one hand falling to her hip where her firearm was secured.

"Stay away," she warned, the simple threat drawing Greg to a stop. He raised an eyebrow, indicating that he was taking her warning seriously, but still curious as to why. Sara fumbled with her gun, finally managing to pull it free.

"Murder will get you life," Greg told her tensely, now feeling the slightest bit of fear. She wouldn't actually….he shook his head. Of course not.

"It wouldn't be murder, it'd be self-defense," she told him quietly.

"I'm not threatening you," Greg pointed out. "Sara…I wouldn't hurt you. Ever…even though lately I've felt more and more like it. You wouldn't hurt anyone either…it's not like you."

She was listening, hands still shaking as she gripped the gun awkwardly. Greg drew in a breath, trying to find the right words. "The Sara I know is kind, and deeply forgiving. She can forgive everyone but herself, why I don't know. She has nothing to regret…"

"It's all lies," she muttered quietly, shaking her head. "Nothing but lies…"

In a sudden change of pace she turned the gun on herself, pressing the barrel against her head as she turned away. Greg had never moved so quickly in his life, not that he remembered at least. His hand wrapped around the barrel at the same time she pulled the trigger, the stray bullet embedding itself into the ceiling. Sara let out a strangled cry as he wrestled the gun from her grasp, the brunette dropping to the floor in a weeping heap.

It wasn't until then he noticed he was shaking, and the only thought that was racing through his head was how long did they have before their neighbors called them in. They lived in a decent neighborhood, a gunshot would not pass over lightly for most.

Letting out a heavy sigh he rested his forehead against the plastered wall, gun still hanging from his one hand. This was way too insane. This was not the life he wanted, this wasn't what he had asked for. There had to be an off button somewhere, had to be a way to change things around, turn time backwards. He couldn't live like this, couldn't keep wondering when and if certain things were going to happen. He hated not being trusted, hated being treated like dirt.

Greg took a few deep breaths, calming his racing heart as he glanced down at the hysterical woman who he was supposed to love. How was he supposed to be involved in a life he had no part of? What was he supposed to do, supposed to say? His first thoughts were to get her somewhere, and fast, before she decided to do something irrational, something she, or he, would definitely regret.

But where? His therapist? Or should he go to someone higher, like the mental institution? Of course Nick would personally slaughter him if he did, so perhaps he should take her straight to the Texan, after all he so desperately wanted to be involved in her life, why not give him an early preview?

He didn't expect the gun to be wrenched from his hands, and he reached for it, surprised to find himself eye level with Sara as she pulled away from him, now more determined to finish what she had started. His fingers wrapped around hers, refusing to let go even as she demanded that he did. With his other arm he pinned her against the wall, nearly ceasing her struggles in the process.

Not to be outdone she kicked out at him, prompting him to sidestep quickly, nearly losing his balance. His hand slipped off the gun as he braced himself in order to keep from hurting her, but it wasn't until then that he realized his fatal mistake as the gun fired three separate times.

The last thing he remembered was the hollow sound of gunfire, and the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized exactly what had just happened.

**TBC **


	12. Fading Realities

**Sorry for the long updates. Taking on a second job is mostly to blame. Working a full time job and a part time job takes away most my writing time, so updates will come slower. I certainly am trying though :P**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Fading Realities**

He had been in the field for just over one year, not long enough by anyone's standards to say he was experienced. But even he knew that this was not a good situation to be in. With the pounding in his head steadily increasing he let out a groan, forcing his eyes open slowly. Lying on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling told him one thing. He was alive.

The amount of pain that shot through his body told him he was lucky to be even that. Blinking his eyes several times he let out a soft cry as he lifted his head, eyes searching around in the darkness, trying to figure out just exactly where he was at. It was hard to focus, hard to see, shapes blurring before him as he gave into the rising pain, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

The sudden realization struck him then. He was in bed, not a place he had been before. Lowering his hand he let out a sharp gasp as his wandering fingers came into contact with the open wound, the warm sticky fluid coating the palm of his hand. Sara had shot him.

Not only had she shot him, she had just left him here, even taking the time to get him into bed. Of course, why would she call for help when she had been the cause of the incident? Blurry eyes tried to focus on the bedside clock, the red glowing numbers merging into one solid blob.

It was crazy…the shooting had been an accident. After all Sara's full intention had been to shoot herself, not Greg. His interference is where things had gone wrong. Even still, Sara should know that by just leaving him here, his death would become her murder, despite the events that had happened before.

Maybe though, just maybe she was still here, still close. Perhaps she had even called for help, and had moved him to the bed for his own comfort. She honestly wouldn't leave him here, would she? With straining effort he raised his head, his eyes searching the darkness around him as he groggily called out her name, his voice barely above a whisper.

It led him into a coughing fit, and once that had died down he tried again, the words burning in his throat as he voiced echoed in the empty room. It was the only sound in the house aside from the quiet whisper of the ceiling fan in the adjacent room. So…Sara had truly left him here.

He let out a groan, hand pressing against his still bleeding wound. He needed help, and he couldn't just wait till someone found him. By then it would be too late…far too late to do anything. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up, letting his legs dangle over the side of the bed. His cell phone was just on the other side of the room, sitting on the dresser. He could see it from here, even through the fuzzy achiness that swarmed his entire body. But seeing it was one thing, getting to it, a completely different matter.

With a cry as the sharp pain shot through his body Greg pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto the wall to steady himself. He was leaning against it heavily, stumbling in small steps towards his goal. Several times he had to pause, long enough to gain his breath, and fight the building pain. The entire process was one he had to repeat after only a few short steps, forehead resting against the cool wall.

He had it in one more try, knees buckling under him as his fingers flimsily grasped the phone, pulling it down with him. Biting his lip he forced down a scream, bloody fingers already fumbling with the device in order to open it. He couldn't remember dialing the numbers, or hitting the send button, but he did remember the floor rushing up at him as the room continued to spin.

* * *

It was the sensation of moving that first woke him. Not so much the lights, or the surrounding voices, but everything else around him. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know where he was. The steady beeping of the heart monitor, the strong smell of sanitizer and clean linen, and the foggy drug-induced state was enough to give it away.

But the drugs were wearing off, and he let out a quiet groan as wandering hands came into contact with his wounds. The sharp pain that followed told him that they were more worn off than he had first thought. The second realization was a split second sensation of feeling nauseous before actually becoming sick.

Anesthesia never had sat well with his body. But he was deeply thankful for its purpose, knowing that the pain he was in now was more in likely a preview of what it could have been. He felt the hands come up to rest on his forehead, pressing his head back into the pillow as the shadows danced across his face.

"Can you hear me Mr. Sanders?"

With a dull nod Greg confirmed her suspicion, opening his eyes to gaze at her through a dazed fog.

"There's been an accident," the nurse explained with a warm smile, as though it was something to be thankful for. "We're going to get a morphine drip going, and after you get some rest you can have visitors."

He let out a small whimper, closing his eyes as he turned his head away. Visitors were the last thing he wanted. Not only did he not want anyone to see him like this, but he didn't want to explain all that had happened. And even if he did, would they believe him? Sara's word, after all, was far more superior than his. This was something he had found out the hard way. And even more so, what would Nick do upon finding out that Greg blamed Sara for this mess?

He knew that Sara had had bouts of depressive anger before. His therapist had told him she one was suicidal, and perhaps still was. Her actions of last night confirmed that, and though he was grateful for stopping her from her intentions, he was deeply regretting the outcome.

Time passed endlessly, Greg continually faded in and out of reality, conscious for only moments at one period of time, and coherent for only a fraction of that time. The pain came and went as well, making him wonder if the morphine was actually working, but it never lasted long enough for him to query someone on the subject.

It was in the later hours when he stirred, a stifled groan working its way out when a hand touched his gingerly, a soft voice calling his name. He worked his eyes open, waiting a moment for the room to stop swaying, his vision clearing. He was surprised to see Sara sitting there, one arm propped up on his bed, the other holding his hand tenderly. Her eyes were red, puffy from both tears and simple exhaustion.

"Hey," she smiled, her voice soft as she watched him. "It's about time you woke up."

Her tone was light, teasingly as she squeezed his hand but Greg turned away, not even giving her a visual response. Sara was the last person he wanted to see, and frankly the last person he expected to see. How dare she show up after all that had just transpired, exactly what was she thinking?

Here she was, pretending that nothing had happened, as if everything was going to be okay. He would be physically, but emotionally was a different story. If he got out of here…when he got out of here there was no doubt in his mind that he wasn't going to stay with her any longer. Greg would have to find his own place, and by Nick's choice words earlier, a new job as well. That he could handle…

He swallowed painfully, fighting down the rising lump in his throat. For some sudden reason he felt like crying, eyes pressed shut tightly as he worked over the varied emotions running through his very soul. He could handle being alone, but it wasn't something he wanted. At the same time, what other choice did he have? He couldn't live under Sara's domineering word, and at the same time skirt around Nick's watchful eye. There was once a time when they were all friends, Greg could sense that, and to know that it would never be there again was tearing him apart.

Greg had always been social; he yearned for the activity, the contact with others almost constantly. Paranoia always struck him when he found out that he would be alone for long periods of time. He wasn't needy, or dependent on anyone, but he preferred something other than solitude on a regular basis.

Sara being here now, however, didn't change things for the better. He would assume at the very least that she would have left, or in a better manner, turned herself in. Maybe she had, and perhaps Nick had waved the charges. The Texan after all seemed willing to do almost anything for her.

He could feel her hands rubbing his arm, working their way up to his shoulder, coming to a rest on his forehead. She had called his name a few more times, but grew silent soon afterwards, either knowing he wasn't up to talking, or assuming he had fallen asleep once more. Whatever the cause Greg silently hoped she would leave. He hated lying, hated pretending, and even if it was or his best interest it still didn't make it right.

It felt like hours, but in reality it was only a handful of minutes before the nurse called her away. Sara had given his arm one last squeeze before moving to her feet, padding quietly out into the hall. Greg watched through cracked eyes as she disappeared from view, letting out a silent breath of air. Visiting hours were over for now. All he had to worry about was tomorrow. He let out a groan, turning his head upward to stare at the ceiling.

Then again he could always tell the nurse he wasn't up to visitors, which wouldn't exactly be a lie. The only way the team would be able to seem him then was to discuss the case, to pull his statement. Greg knew he didn't have to answer any personal questions; a simple short answer would suffice just as well.

"I didn't think you were asleep."

Greg blinked heavily, raising his head to see the brunette walking back in. "I thought visiting hours were over," he rasped quietly, grimacing at the burn in his throat.

"They are," she smiled, sliding back into the chair next to his bed. "I simply told the doctor that we were engaged."

There was a smile on her face, but it was pure disgust that was running through his body. Apparently Sara had not only the upper hand at work and in their household; she now decided how they were going to live the rest of their lives as well. "Why?"

It was the question that was burning on his lips, and even still Sara seemed shocked he even had to ask. She gave short shrug of her shoulders before continuing with a response. "I thought you would like the company," she stated, "Considering everything that just happened, I thought it would be better if you didn't wake up alone."

He wanted to laugh, but the pain chose otherwise. Instead he just shook his head, eyes closing as turned away with a small mumble, "I don't want to talk."

"You don't have to," Sara's response was quick, but fully sincere, as though she had expected as much. "You can just listen."

He had wanted to argue, but was already feeling drowsy, his eyes studying the attached tubes and monitors with vague interest as he tried to distract himself. Greg had to wonder if she would even listen if he told he didn't want that either.

"You're lucky to be alive," she started out, reaching for his hand. She seemed stunned as he pulled away, her voice catching in her throat as she continued. "We thought we were going to lose you there for a few minutes."

"Why? Wasn't that your intention?" Greg asked bitterly, fighting to talk as he yawned. Even being up for the few minutes had drained him, but he couldn't tell if it was due to his weakened condition, or if the pain medication was the culprit itself.

"Excuse me?" Sara blinked, the tone of her voice changing. It was obvious she had heard his statement, but either didn't understand it, or hadn't wanted to hear it. Greg just shook his head as he closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

"You were…you were touch and go during surgery, no one could really tell us what was going on. You though, if you hadn't texted the license number of that vehicle, we probably would have never found out who was responsible for doing this to you. I got there as they were leaving, I couldn't see anything, and I was afraid I was too late to help you."

He couldn't resist opening an eye at that comment, wondering if she was simply mad or incredibly brilliant. Had she simply schemed up a plan to cover for her own fault, or had her actions forced her into believing things that weren't true?

"Grissom thinks they're connected to the first murder, he and Brass are trying to tie the loose ends now."

"Grissom?" Greg wondered, clearing his throat painfully as he shook his head. Now who exactly was the crazy one now?

Sara nodded quietly, watching him with a concerned expression. "Are you okay?" she wondered, reaching over to touch his face. Greg turned away from her touch at first, but after a second attempt finally gave in, too weary to try and fight anything.

"Grissom's dead," Greg rasped quietly, blinking several times in order to clear his blurred vision.

"What?" Sara was shaking her head, worry plastered amongst her face. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Grissom's dead," he repeated sternly, fighting to remember all that he had been told the past few weeks. "He's dead and you…you shot me…"

It was here he faltered, blinking several times as the dull realization hit him on how ridiculous all this did sound. Sara was still sitting quietly next to his bedside, watching him worriedly.

"Greg…I'm going to get the doctor alright? Just relax, try to get some rest. They said you had a concussion, I think something more…something might be going on…"

She was fumbling over her words, obviously shaken by all that had happened and was moving to her feet when Greg reached out for her. He let out a hiss of pain as his body protested, and it was enough to stop Sara in her tracks, the brunette already turning around to tend to him.

"What's happened?" he breathed quietly, his fingers wrapping around her sleeve. "Tell me what's going on."

"Greg…I don't know…" she whispered quietly, wrapping her fingers around his hand shakily. "I've never seen you like this…it's scaring me."

"I don't understand…" he whispered, falling back into the sheets heavily. Sara's hands tried to stop him but he was already down, taking in a few deep breaths to help steady himself. "It doesn't make sense…"

Sara sat down with him, holding his hand firmly in hers as she watched him. "Maybe you need some rest," she voiced softly, swallowing.

"You were there with me," Greg shook his head, "Just last night…"

"You were here last night," Sara cut him off. "You've been in surgery most of the day. Don't you remember what happened?"

He shook his head slowly, confusion overwhelming him as he struggled to stay awake. Sara could see this, and his suspicions were confirmed when she pressed him down into the sheets, urging him to get some rest. He tried to protest, but Sara simply shook her head.

"No Greg…sleep. We'll talk later…I promise."

She said the last words with care and for the first time Greg hadn't wanted to see her go. He felt a growing need to stay with her, but watched with sadden eyes as she stepped hastily out into the hall. Obviously she was affected by everything just as much as he was, but the true wonder was what was truly happening?

It wasn't something he could ponder for long, already being whisked away into a fading darkness, afraid to fall asleep, mostly because he was afraid of what he would find upon waking.

**TBC**


	13. Confirming Wonders

**Sorry for the long updates. It's hard to find time to write with the hours I'm working. I am trying, and I have numerous ideas that I want to get out. This was a fun story to write, and alas we are at the end. I do have a story planned for this, not a sequel but a counterview, from Sara's pov more or less. When this will be up, I'm not sure. :D**

**Major thanks goes** **out to Kegel for betaing this for me on her birthday! This Chapter's for her!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Confirming Wonders**

Sleeping, for the most part, was hard. He never really slept, but instead was lost somewhere in a drug induced fog. Pain dimly lined the edges of his consciousness, keeping him from fully waking, but at the same time it was what he wanted. With joggled memories, off balanced sensors, and listless dreams Greg couldn't tell for certain what was imagined, or worse, what was real.

He remembered waking with incredible thirst. His throat was so dry in hurt to breathe, and a light sheen of sweat drenched his forehead and arms. Even through a clouded mind he could tell he was running a fever as his eyes darted about the room incoherently. There was a straw pressed to his lips and he drank greedily without question, protesting when the refreshing liquid was taken away. He couldn't really argue however; the short amount of time spent awake was already draining him of his energy.

This time he did sleep. Knew that he did because it seemed like only seconds, and yet he felt more than ready to leave the dreaded hellhole upon waking. The IV burned his arm where it was inserted, making it itch to the point where it was red and slightly swollen. The morphine drip took away most of the pain but at the same time made him incredibly queasy. And thirsty…

He glanced around the room, noting with distaste the picture of water was clear on the other side. There was no way he could reach it under his own power, and the last thing he wanted was another nurse fussing over him and pampering him like a child. He still had his pride after all.

Instead he leaned back against the pillows, staring straight ahead at the blank wall. You would think that hospital would spend at least a small portion of their income on livening up the place. Medical bills were by no means cheap; someone had to be raking in the money, right?

His mind burned with needed questions. He wanted so much to know if what had happened before had been merely a dream, a wanted hope, or if there was some sort of truth in it. He was afraid to ask; waiting was tantalizing, but at least he could pretend. Knowledge could be a petty thing sometimes, for Greg though, it could be a devastating blow.

The concern…the concern in her eyes…it had been all too real. That he hadn't been able to miss. Sara could lie as much as she wanted, but she could not fabricate falsified emotions. At least this was what he told himself. Perhaps it was because he wanted it so much. Not just wanted…needed. He needed it to be that way.

He glanced towards the door as it opened, surprised confusion filling his face. It wasn't that he didn't expect visitors; he just didn't expect to see this particular person. Especially concerning what his state was supposed to be.

"Grissom?"

The older man looked pleasantly surprised, nodding towards his statement as he wandered in, selecting a chair that was not too far away from the bed.

"I'll be the first to admit, it's good to see you up," the scientist mentioned, leaning back against the chair.

Greg merely blinked, dazed eyes studying the other man, trying to form a logical solution in his mind. After a moment he let out a meek smile, more to the satisfaction of knowing than to acknowledge Grissom's comment. There was no doubt now; it had been a dream. A nightmare…whatever it was, it was over.

"Is the lab slow?" Greg wondered out of curiosity, trying to keep the morbid excitement out of his voice.

"Why would you ask that?" It was Grissom's turn to wonder now, his gaze falling over the young man's form intensely, but after a moment it lightened as he continued as though he had never stopped. "We're actually quite busy, we have three open cases, and with you currently residing in the Desert Palms Hospital it's a bit hard to keep up."

"I'm sorry that I'm at an inconvenience," Greg grumbled quietly, feeling slightly dissatisfied. He knew Grissom expected a lot from him; the man expected a lot from all his workers, but this seemed to be pushing things beyond the normal limits of fairness. He was stuck in the hospital after all, what exactly was he supposed to do?

"You put yourself in a lot of danger, you should have known better."

"What?" Greg questioned, frowning as he did so, "I should have known that he would have a gun? That he was going to shoot me? If I knew that I wouldn't have gone." Did the man honestly believe he had suicidal intentions?

"You were instructed by your supervisor not to go," Grissom reminded him coldly.

"Actually I never told him that he couldn't."

Greg glanced up hopefully to the doorway, smiling timidly as Sara made her way in. He could always count on her to show up at the right time. One of those being now, and he could see Grissom shift uncomfortably, obviously not too thrilled to see her here.

"Sara, you'll have to wait outside while I question him," the man started, surprise etching his face as she refused. "I'm not giving you a choice," Grissom frowned, his gaze stern.

"I never told him that he couldn't go," she ignored his last statement, wandering in till she was standing at the foot of the hospital bed. Her fingers wrapped around the bar as she leaned against it. "Just that I rather him not to."

"Which is the same as instructing," Grissom took the time to point out.

"I gave him a choice," she argued, "Not a command."

"When we work as a team, we need to listen as a team."

"Enough!"

Greg let out a sigh, closing his eyes. He was tired alone from the exchange, but he certainly did not need anyone arguing over his actions. After a moment he drew in a sigh, relishing in the short silence.

"I made a mistake," he admitted quietly. "I paid for it. There's no need to try and find someone to place the blame on."

For a moment the room was silent, and Greg had hoped that it had all been enough. He kept his eyes closed, feeling the drugs slowly take control over his system. Even though he had yearned for the contact since the previous night, he now found himself wishing that he was alone. It was bad enough that he was in the hospital, but now knowing that he would have to answer up to the consequences of his actions made him queasy. Disgusted he let out a sigh, shifting lightly and groaning at the sharp pain as he did so.

As a hand touched his shoulder he worked his eyes back open, smiling bleakly at the brunette that was watching him closely. After a moment she returned the smile, and then eased up as she moved back.

"You're right," she told him with a nod, her gaze moving to Grissom. "We shouldn't be trying to find someone to blame. We have our guys in custody, they are the ones that are responsible, and it should end there."

"However," Grissom's tone cut through Greg's short moment of relief, and the former lab tech turned his gaze to watch him as he spoke. "It does not excuse Greg from a formal investigation. It's protocol; without it, our killers will walk away with a reduced sentence."

"Then I will do the investigation," Sara cut in, her gaze becoming stern as Grissom moved to disagree. "It is my case," she stated firmly, "I was Greg's supervisor."

He considered his options for a moment, knowing full well as being both their supervisors, he had the authority to pull her from the case and complete it himself. He knew that if he did it himself there was a better chance it would stand up in court, yet he also knew that if he denied Sara this request things would turn out to be much more complicated.

With a resolved breath he moved to his feet, handing her the folder file before he made his way out of the room. It wasn't until the door was shut safely behind him that Sara moved to occupy the now empty chair, after scooting it closer to the bed. She set the file on the small table off to the side, her gaze solely focused on Greg.

"How are you feeling?"

So it wasn't exactly protocol, but Greg wasn't going to complain. He gave her a small smile to show that he was okay, but refrained from speaking, worried that his voice would betray his true state. He wasn't entirely okay, still shaken from his past encounters that he was now writing off as dreams. The only problem that remained was the fact that it seemed so real; and the very reason that he was here now.

"The doctors say you can go as early as tomorrow. They want you to get at least a week of rest before coming back to work; longer if you can spare it. I'll do my best to see how much time I can give you."

"I'd rather go back," Greg stated quietly, already knowing that a full week of doing nothing would drive him out of his mind. If he stayed home any longer he surely would go crazy.

"You need your rest," Sara reminded him, but grinned at her own comment once seeing his dull expression. It was uncomfortable for a moment, the silence stretching across the room until Greg ventured to break it, wanting desperately to know.

"What happened?"

"You were shot," she said remorsefully, her eyes turning away as she explained. "You were hit twice, there was a third bullet lodged in your car. We assumed that if it had hit its intended target, you would have died."

"I already assumed I should have," he paused here, taking in a breath. "That's the part I don't understand."

Sara smiled and to his surprise laughed a little too. "I told you Greg, I didn't want you to go alone. I was five minutes behind you, already calling backup as I arrived. There was an ambulance not too far from where you were injured, and they responded right away. You spent almost ten hours in surgery; doctors were telling us it was fifty/fifty. You lost a lot of blood."

"Any lasting effects?"

She made a face, considering the question for a moment. "Physically…no."

"You think I'm crazy?" Greg raised an eyebrow, finishing the thought for her.

"You were talking crazy last night," she replied softly with a nod. "Doctors say you had some head trauma…but that it shouldn't have affected you like that. You're awake, and alert. You know what's happened….I don't know what to say."

"It was all a dream…" he muttered, turning away. Sara's perplexed look encouraged him on and he cleared his throat, repeating his earlier statement. He already knew that Sara wouldn't let it go there, and so he continued after another pause.

Time never seemed to pass by so slowly, and yet as he finished Greg was surprised to see how much time had actually gone by. Sara's mood was hard to judge, silence being her biggest feature. She watched him for a moment, then moved to speak.

"It couldn't have been that bad," she reasoned, thrown off as Greg chuckled.

"You were horrid," he croaked, only realizing then exactly what he was saying. He gave her an apologetic smile, reforming his words quickly. "I mean, you…you were great as a person, as a…a leader…it's just as…"

"A girlfriend," Sara finished for him, "I was horrible as a girlfriend."

"Well…not entirely," he protested, coming to a stop as he thought it over. "It was just…"

"I wasn't a good person," Sara concluded, shrugging her shoulders. "That's all there is to it."

"It wasn't like that…" Greg swallowed, now feeling guilty for ever bringing it up. Vivid images of the Sara he had known for a short while plagued his mind and he could only worry what was too come. Surprise, of course, etched his face as she chuckled, reaching over to grasp his hand.

"Greg…listen to us. We're fighting over a dream."

He couldn't help but blush as he realized the truth to this, smiling in return as she brought his hand up to her lips. "That was just a dream…this?" She paused with a smile, leaning in towards him with a gentle kiss.

"This is real life."

**The End**


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